Won't you close our eyes?
by Yuki Fuyumi
Summary: Schuldig is slowly going insane, but he refuses to ask for help. At the same time, Crawford suspects something, and in order to find out what's going on, he's reading Schuldig's old diaries... [completed]
1. Chapter I: Florian Schrödler is dead

**Won't you close our eyes?**   
  
  
_A/N_: Um, okay, I've already posted this on the BradxSchu ML, but anyway... I haven't really gotten to write the last part, so I thought, maybe if I post it here I might get more ideas... Or not. X/ I need more coffee... And another pack of cigarettes... *calls to her "sister" Lenn-chan* Would you buy me some?! We could share! I'll say it again; It was hard to think of a German name for Schuldig. I hate the common stuff like Arnold and Friedrich and stuff. Then I saw this German documentary and in the credits there was this guy called Florian Schrödler, and I was like, "Hey, that's kinda nice". And it sounds kinda Schuldig-y, don't you think? And about Brad's name... Don't ask. I was tired. Yeah. And 'Vaughan' sounds... like some knight's name, doesn't it? Cool, knight-y Crawford!   
Anyways.... Here's the story. It's another of those Schu-goes-mad-stories, but hell... I felt as if _I_ was going mad, so I started writing on this. Don't hate me. I'm just so... cute? Um, yeah. And review! I'll die without reviews! ...I'll give you cookies.   
  
  
_Warnings_: Um, yeah. Can everybody say "OOC!"? Come on, you can do it! I don't think the language is too bad, and even though there's some morphine and stuff later on it's not so bad... I think. Um, right. All the faults in spelling is blamed on the spellingdemon. Also, I based my Nagi on a Nagi I know. *waves* Hi!! Um, yeah. That's it. HAAAAAI!   
  
_italics_ means thoughts   
~...~ means flashback   
'...' means diary-entry, or part from a diary-entry   
"..." means telepathic thought, or thought picked up by telepathy   
  
  
_Acknowledgements_: First of all, **Lenn-chan** for being such a party-babe! Yeah! Still wanna go this weekend? Party on!   
Secondly, to **Wacky**, who reads through all my stuff and says "I don't get this" "you should change this" and stuff. Um, yeah.   
Then, of course, to **Eike** who helped me out with the German stuff. I don't know shit when it comes to German.   
And, not to forget, **Omi-kun** who's in the hospital. I'm glad you didn't succeed in killing yourself this time, either, cutie!   
And last, but definitely not least, to the peeps at the bxs ML! What would I do without your mails! *mwwwaa!*   
  
  
_Disclaimer_: I don't own these peeps. I don't know if I want to... Though they're really cute! ^_^ Oh, and the song's not mine, it belongs to His Infernal Majesty. Yeah. They rock! Goth guitars all the way, baby! *bounce bounce* Um, so don't sue me, people, 'coz I'm like... Broke. *boohoo*   
  
  
  
**Chapter I: Florian Schrödler is dead**   
  
  
Just because he was a workaholic didn't mean he enjoyed dealing with annoying persons. And Schuldig was often more than a handful. There were times when he considered locking the redhead up just so that he could be absolutely sure of where he was. Although he doubted that he would succeed. Firstly, the German hated it when people tried to control him. Secondly, even though he had the physical strength to drag the redhead into a room and lock him up, Schuldig was at least twice as fast and agile than he was.     He heaved a heavy sigh, took off his frame-less glasses, put them on his spotless desk and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Too many hours in front of a computer screen was beginning to take its toll. Just as he finished rubbing his eyes, the laptop in front of him let out a short "beep" to inform him of an incoming message. He sighed again, put the spectacles back on and searched the bottom of the screen. Estet. He clicked his way to the message and read it through. The mission was as if it had been especially designed for Schuldig. Speaking of which… He looked up from the screen. Where was he, anyway?     After searching through the two floors of the house he and the other Schwarz members shared he had yet to find the German, and he had run out of floors to look on. Passing a hand through his raven hair, the American shot a glance at his wristwatch. 11.18 PM. _Great. He can be anywhere_, he thought with an irritated frown. Then it hit him. The roof.     When he climbed out onto the dark tilted roof he saw a trail of thin smoke from the western-most side. Carefully walking towards the smoke, he could vaguely discern a black-clad figure lying on its back on the cold roof, its legs drawn up and crossed while its green feline eyes absently watched the grayish smoke rise and disappear into the dark of night.     "What do you want?" The sound of a voice nearly made Brad trip. The German's hearing was impressive. At times, his resemblance to the feline was eerie.     "There's a mission for you." He sat down carefully, glad that he had decided on wearing dark pants.     "Killing?" Another trail of smoke being watched.     "Yes."     The redhead licked his lips. "There's a woman screaming not so far away," he said slowly and flicked the cigarette-butt away into the night.     "You've been listening." It wasn't a question. Those questions were useless, he had learned.     "They are so delicious when they're frightened," Schuldig purred and stretched before putting another cigarette to his lips and began digging through his pockets for a lighter. The other refrained from commenting. "You know," he continued once he had lighted the stick of nicotine and taken a long drag. "It's not as if I particularly like to smoke."     "Then don't."     He smiled into the darkness and took another drag, watching the smoke swirl into the dark sky as he exhaled. "I just hope it'll kill me before my brain does," he said after a while, dragging out every syllable, as if tasting the words. Then he sat up and put out the rest of the cigarette. "Now, you said something about a mission?"     Crawford would have shaken his head, had it not been too obvious in the night. He would never understand how the German thought. But then again, he had never considered the other to be sane. It had to be hard to try and stay sane, with a hundred voices screaming in your head for several years before you learned how to filter them out. And so far, it hadn't gone too well. He drew breath and began explaining the mission, watching how the redhead nodded every now and then, licking his lips unconsciously every time the target was mentioned. When the American finished, Schuldig laid back down on his back and re-lighted the cigarette.     "Fine," he said. "I'll do it."     Brad left the redhead there and went back down-stairs. _Oh, well_, he thought as he reseated himself at his desk. _As long as it gets done._     About one and a half hours later Brad walked to the kitchen to get a new cup of coffee to sustain himself for another half-hour so that he could finish the report of the day. The kitchen was almost completely dark, with the exception of one lonely candle burning alone on the tiny, round table. And within the light's radius sat Schuldig, bent over the table and writing. Brad frowned. The German was supposed to still be out. The mission he had been sent on had sent him to the other side of Tokyo. And yet, there he was, completely absorbed with writing.     "I sincerely hope that that's the report you're writing," the American said while switching on the light, a yellowish glow bathing the tiny kitchen in warmth. Schuldig looked up, a strangely haunted look on his face. Then he acknowledged the other man and his well-made mask slipped on. He smirked.     "There isn't much to write," he said without taking his eyes off the raven-haired man.     Brad measured up the coffee and turned on the brewer, used to having the other's eyes on him. Schuldig, he had learned, loved to watch people. "You mean that you're already done, then?" he asked, leaning back against the counter while waiting for the coffee to brew.     "From the roof," replied Schuldig and got up to sort through the refrigerator.     Crawford frowned. "The roof?"     Schuldig shrugged his shoulders before bending down to look through the bottom shelves. "I wasn't… I'm not feeling too well, so I decided I would stay here." He frowned to himself and looked as if he was about to say something more, but never did.     "And you're absolutely sure that you killed him?"     At this Schuldig licked his lips absently. "Sure." He looked up from the vegetables to find the American frowning at him. Crawford sure did frown a lot lately, Schuldig noted. "Oh, come on. It's not that hard, you know. Make a call and check, if you like." He held up a jar of mayonnaise. "Turkey sandwich?"     "It's unhealthy to eat in the middle of the night," Brad said, pouring himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.     Schuldig frowned, then shrugged his shoulders again. "I've got a headache," he said, as if that reason was as valid as any other, and dug out more things from the fridge. "Are you sure you don't want anything?"     Crawford sighed. Something was wrong. Maybe the telepath was getting ill? Whatever it was, he wanted to know, so that he could handle it with proper care. "Alright. Just one, though," he added, seeing the growing pile of food on the round wooden table.     "Pour me a cup of tea, will you?" the redhead asked of the American and Brad complied while knitting his brow. As cutlery was placed on the table, Crawford turned on the CD-cassette-radio standing on the windowsill. Quiet Mozart spilled out into the kitchen as the CD player started playing. Schuldig made a face.     "Let me play one tune, at least," he said, digging through the pile of CDs stacked next to the radio. Picking one out, he exchanged it for the Mozart-CD, skipped to track four and pressed play. Drums, Goth guitars and a soft, almost soothing vocal flowed out of the speakers on low volume.     "I thought you had a headache," the raven-haired man said with arched eyebrows.     "I do. This helps me relax. Deal with it," Schuldig replied and sat down, taking the teacup between his long-fingered hands. "Turn off the light, will you? It makes my head hurt."     Brad complied once again before sitting down. He found Schuldig's behavior a bit strange. He had never heard of a telepath having a headache. As far as he was concerned, telepaths were supposed to give others headaches, not get them. And Schuldig never got ill. None of them did, thanks to Estet. It just didn't fit.     "What were you writing, if it wasn't the report?" he asked, spreading the mayonnaise over his slice of bread with the help of a knife. The clairvoyant had missed American sandwiches. It surprised him that they had been able to get a hold of so many western food articles. But then again, this was Tokyo. He was grateful that one could find just about anything there.     "Why do you want to know?" Schuldig asked back, his face looking strangely much like china in the flickering light of the candle. The verse and chorus spilled into the room.   
  
_In our diabolical rapture we live on and on   
And death keeps knocking at our door   
So we open the door and we die a bit more   
We're in love with death and we die on and on   
Won't you close our eyes?   
We'll be by your side_   
  
Brad frowned at the lyrics. "What is this?"     "What is what?"     "This song, what is this?"     Schuldig smiled. "Why, you like it?"     Brad shook his head slowly. "No, I just… It reminds me of something."     "Then shut up and listen."     He wanted to tell the German to stop being rude, but he caught himself as the second verse began, reminding him of something he could not truly remember. It bothered him.   
  
_In your heavenly rapture we die on and on   
And you keep waiting at our door   
Yes - we open the door - let us die a bit more   
We're in love with you and we die on and on   
Won't you close our eyes?   
We'll be by you side_   
  
Then he started and nearly dropped his sandwich. The only instrument left was a guitar and the singer's soft, almost whispering voice. He was so very sure that he had heard it before, he just couldn't place it.   
  
_Your love is the only thing I live for in this world   
Oh, how I wait for the day your heart burns   
In these heavenly flames I have already scorched in   
I just want you to know I'll always be waiting_   
  
Then the same bit was sung again, and Brad shook his head. "What _is_ this?" he asked again. Schuldig, listening to lovesongs? He felt confused.     "HIM." Schuldig took a sip of his tea. "The album's called 'Greatest lovesongs volume 666'. Why?" The German ran a hand through his unruly hair that had been let free from the restraining bandana.     "It just…"     "It reminds you of something, yes you've already said that."     "What were you writing, then?" he asked again, seeing that he had yet to get an answer.     Schuldig frowned. "Really, can't I have at least some privacy?"     Brad shrugged and they continued eating in silence, the music strangely quiet in the background, even though there were lots of drumming and electric guitars. The candle-flame danced every time one of them moved to reach over the table. It burned out and was replaced, the redhead complaining over the bright light of the lamp.     It was nearly 3 AM when Schuldig fell asleep, his head rested in the cradle of his arms upon the table. Crawford sat quiet, watching the German intently, as if he could find out what was wrong by just looking at him.     Once the raven-haired man was sure that the other was deeply asleep, he rose and picked up the pocket-sized book that Schuldig had been writing in earlier. As he leafed through the pages he was met by a curly, cursive handwriting. At times the writing had been written in such a hurry that it seemed some letters got lost on the way, especially m, n, i and u. But the writing was strangely beautiful in its own odd way.     It was a diary. He could tell not from the text but from the dates and the fact that every entry was signed "Dein Schuldig" making him wonder if the German had meant for someone to read it. He knew hardly any German, only a few words and phrases, and he had always had some trouble reading cursive, which was why he always printed. But he caught a word here and there, mostly just weekdays, months and some pronouns. Ihn, sie, Montag, Juli. But not much else.     Carefully laying it back down on the table, he began putting the food back into the fridge, pondering if the reason to the headaches was written in the diary, and if so, how he would be able to find out.     Schuldig stirred. "Was machst du?" he mumbled, blinking tiredly.     Brad smiled, though with his back to Schuldig. "I'm not German, you know."     Schuldig frowned slightly, then shook his head. Brad turned back to face the table. To him, the German's hair looked crimson in the dim light. "I mean, what are you doing?" the redhead corrected himself. Brad tilted his head slightly to the right.     "Sorry. I just assumed you were done eating, considering that you had your hair all over the salad."     Schuldig shook his head carefully. Crawford actually made a joke. Whatever this headache was, it definitely wasn't good for him. He was beginning to hear things, he thought with a slight smile.     "Well, I'm done, anyway," the American continued. "And if you've been having a headache I strongly advice you to take an aspirin and go to sleep. Perhaps in your bed, but if you prefer a wooden table, go ahead." And with that, he left the kitchen, leaving the redhead behind. Schuldig was about to shake his head once again, but the headache made itself known by giving him a dull ache in the form of constant thudding in the back of his head and he refrained from doing so. He picked up the book, wrote a few quick sentences and went to bed.   
  
The next few days, Crawford wondered over Schuldig's diary writing. He had never considered the redhead to be the kind of person to keep a diary, and this had awakened a curiosity highly uncharacteristic in the American. The oracle found himself almost constantly thinking about the diary, even considering trying to take a closer look at it. But he could never find a good reason to go into his teammate's room and look for it, no matter how hard he searched his head.     Then, one day, the reason came to him.     "Crawford?"     He nearly started at the sound of the Japanese boy's voice. Nagi hardly spoke a word these days. "Yes?"     Dark eyes the color of lapis lazuli studied the dark desk. "Can I ask you something?"     The American nodded.     "Schuldig is acting weird. He left just now."     Although it wasn't an outright question, Brad heard the question the boy wanted to ask.     "I don't know," he said. It was true that Schuldig hadn't been himself for the last few days. But he could only guess why. If he only had the diary…     "You don't think he… You know… Because that would totally ruin things for Schwarz." Nagi shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans and looked at the clairvoyant through dark brown bangs.     "I don't know," Crawford repeated, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the bangs that had been perfect just moments ago. "But I will see."     The teenager nodded and left as quietly as he had come and soon after, loud music was heard from another part of the house.     Crawford furrowed his brow. Well, it was his business if one of the members on his team was into something as unhealthy as illegal drugs. With that reason in mind, he rose from his perfectly clean desk, walked into the redhead's room and looked about. The bed was only halfway made; clothes were piling on the chair by a short desk where a TV sat. Next to the television-screen stood a stereo, the two speakers placed in different parts of the room. Stacks of books, magazines and CDs lay on the floor, a green pajamas lying on the bed. And something beneath the bed… A box. Ten to one that the diary was in it.     The raven-haired man kneeled beside the bed and pulled out the box, opening it carefully. Inside was not one, not two, but four diaries. The first one was almost eleven years old, Crawford counted with the help of the dates. That meant that Schuldig had written in it when he had been about ten or eleven. The second was from the year after. The third was written only three years ago and seemed to be a summary of the years with Estet. The fourth picked up where the third left off, meaning that the book Schuldig had been writing in most recently was the fifth in the row. Chances were that he kept it elsewhere.     With a determined look on his face, Crawford stood up with the four books in his arms and went to have them photocopied, else the redhead would miss them. On the way back home, he stopped by a bookstore to buy himself an English-German/German-English dictionary. Whatever was causing the German those headaches and the sense of being ill, he was going to find out.   
  
'Florian. I hate that name.' Brad frowned at the text. Schuldig had never given the impression of someone who was or had been bullied. Telepaths rarely were. He fought on with the dictionary close at hand. 'I want to change it. It's too girly. Maybe I could take some stupid name. Like Schuldig. Dad says everything's my fault all the time, anyway.'     The raven-haired man put the pen down and looked at the translation thus far. He was going to need a better dictionary, he noted absentmindedly. His frown deepened. So that was Schuldig's given name. Florian. It was rather pretty, the American thought to himself. He had always liked names that ended with -ian. Brad had also changed names, so he didn't blame the German for also doing so. Once he had moved away from home he had taken an entirely different name to fully put his past life behind him. No doubt Schuldig had wanted to do the same. Crawford, though, had kept his given first name as his middle name. A lot of people had Lawrence as their middle name, anyway. 'Crawford' was very common and easily forgotten. 'Vaughan' wasn't.     He shook those thoughts out of his head. There was no use in dwelling on the past, the clairvoyant had learned. The future was far too important.     He was just about to continue when there was a knock on his door.     "Yes?" he called, beginning to put the things into a drawer.     "Can I come in?" came the muffled reply. Schuldig. He never knocked, Brad noted to himself with yet another frown. He closed the drawer and put his laptop in front of himself. "The door's open," he said and the redhead entered, his presence immediately demanding all attention. Too late did Crawford realize that he had forgotten the note with the translation on it, as it still lay very visible, shining white on the dark desk.     "I just wanted to tell you that Nagi has been acting really strangely lately, and…" He stopped when he saw the name 'Florian' on the piece of paper that the American was currently folding up and putting away with his usual bored-looking face. Schuldig found himself suddenly hurled into his own memories.   
  
~   
"Friedrich Schneider?"     "Hier!"     "Florian Schrödler?"     The redheaded boy with the ponytail sat by the window, lost in his own thoughts. His eyes followed the shape of the clouds outside the classroom's window. His mother, she had been acting so strangely that morning. She always did after he and his little sister had heard their parents yell at each other the night before. But somehow, she had been more distant that morning…     "Florian Schrödler?" the teacher, an old lady, tried again, searching the classroom through her glasses.     An elbow was shoved into his ribs. He jumped. "Ja, hier!" That would leave an ugly bruise, and from the look of the boy beside him, the other knew it as well. And his father… He always freaked when he saw that Florian came home with bruises. Bruises that he hadn't caused, that was. The boy furrowed his brow slightly. His father was what he worried about most. If someone could lose his temper, it would be that man.     "Please, Schrödler, do try to pay attention. You will need to if you are to catch up with the rest of the class."     He nodded, his eyes already gazing out the window again. The other boys snickered to themselves, but he decided he didn't care. He hated new schools, like this one. Not that it mattered. He had never had a hard time making new friends - he was just bad at keeping them.      "Girly boy. He'll be easy to tease."     Florian nearly jumped at the voice that had come unbidden into his head. He hated when that happened. Especially late at night. He wondered if it was true, that he really was insane. Or screwed up in the head, as his father said. He pushed the thought aside. So what if he was insane? At least then, maybe someone would come and take him away from home…   
~   
  
"Yes?" The American's deep, even voice broke through the haze of the memory. Schuldig was suddenly immensely grateful for that. He definitely didn't feel like going back to his not so warm and friendly childhood memories.     "Um, where was I?"     "Schuldig, is there something I should know about?" Brad looked him intently in the eye, emerald meeting chocolate. "Are you still having headaches?"     'All the time!' he wanted to scream. 'All the time! I'm losing control! I can't filter anymore! I can't build walls anymore! Please, oh, please make the voices go away!' But he didn't. Instead, he shrugged casually. "Nagi's just acting weird. He looks at me as if I'm on the needle or something."     "He has mentioned his concern, yes," the oracle said with a slight nod.     "Then, would you mind telling him that it's none of his concern, and for everybody's information I am not doing _that_ stupid things." Schuldig's brain was meanwhile working like crazy. Why did the clairvoyant have 'Florian' written on one of his papers? Why?     "I will." Schuldig still stayed, although the topic was closed. He absently brushed his fingers lightly over the dark wood of the desk, looking at something that wasn't there. "Is there something else?" Crawford asked him.     "What? No," Schuldig said hurriedly. "It's nothing." He stopped by the door. Without turning around, he asked, "Where's the aspirin, again?"     "Second from the left."     "…Right." It bothered him that his memory was beginning to fail him as well. He hated this. Estet had warned him that some telepaths, very rarely and purely at random, suffered the same consequences as empaths - every time they killed a little bit of themselves died with their victim; every time they picked something up they lost a little of themselves. It began with headaches and nausea, then the loss of memory, later the loss of one's personality and one's self. Lastly, unless the one suffering from it hadn't already killed himself, his brain would stop working, leaving him as a shell without a mind. He was frightened by the fact that he could well be one of those rare telepaths. It scared him to death.     Once Schuldig had left, looking a bit disoriented, Brad shook his head slightly. There was definitely something wrong with the telepath. Now, if he could only figure out what…   
  
  
**~tbc~**   


* * *

  
  
Soooo... there you have it! Now, I'm off before someone wants to strangle me... If you want to read the rest, then feed me **REVIEWS**!!! Or cookies. Cookies are good... Yeah! *runs off to party*   
  
  



	2. Chapter II: I can't shake this feeling f...

**Won't you close our eyes?**   
  
  
_A/N_: Ah, um, okay. So, here's the second part. Ummm... I don't really remember what I wrote to the ML, so I'll just improvise! Yeah! *dance dance* I know, Schu jumps out a window, but I was thinking of how he can like jump really far and move really fast and cool stuff like that in the anime (haven't read the manga). So there. Um, right. And throwing up sucks. Yeah.   
About the mental wall Schu builds (or tries to build)... I actually made that up from this thing I found on the Net about "how to cope as an empath". It was this really cool site, but me and URLs... Don't ask for it, I can't remember how I found it. -_-;; So, if you're an empath or a telepath, try this out! After you let me know, that is. *heehee* Man, I'm tired. I need a cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes.   
  
  
_Warnings_: My bad ideas? Yeah, and OOC. This wouldn't be the way it is if I could just write it IC..... *boohoo*   
  
_italics_ means thoughts   
~...~ means flashback   
'...' means diary-entry, or part from a diary-entry   
"..." means telepathic thought, or thought picked up by telepathy   
  
  
_Acknowledgements_: **Omi-kun**! Always, honey. I know, I know, they're letting you go tomorrow... Can't wait!   
And, of course, **Lenn-neechan** for giving me that cool anime-skin to my cell! I love you, babe, party on! And maybe to that **weird maniac** who keep calling my cell-phone. I still don't know who it is.   
And to the **ML-member** (sorry, I can't remember who it was, remind me, onegai shimasu!) who told me that Schu's jumping/moving really fast and stuff was called celerity. Doumo doumo arigatou gozaimashita ne!   
And last, but not least, **wispykitty** who showered me with cookies! And **RnM** who also reviewed! I'll love you forever! Have some cookies!   
  
  
_Disclaimer_: Still, I don't own them. *duh* But damn, Brad's hot. Why doesn't my boyfriend look like that? Why, Sabin, whyyyyy!? Oh, right. I settled for the Rauresu-look. -_-;; And the song, "kinda i want to" (lyrics at end) is by and with nine inch nails [Reznor-sama wo homeru yo!! *bow bow*] which in short means I don't own it and I can't make any money of it and if I try to I'll have to pay. Litterally. So... All I have is some pocket-lint, a newly purchased Faye Wong CD and some chocolate chip cookies. And no, you can't have them. But I'll share the cookies if you review. *wink wink nudge nudge*   
  
  
  
**Chapter II: I can't shake this feeling from my head**   
  
  
'Why do people fight and yell? I'm tired of having to be the one to clean up after mom and dad have their so called conversations. A lot of things must have been knocked loose up there. And I don't like the way dad acts towards Anne. Everybody's acting so weird. And you know the whispers in my head? It feels as if someone has connected them to a speaker. They are so loud now that I can't sleep. Am I really crazy?'   
  
It had been hard work to translate the diary. Most of the time, there were mistakes in spelling or grammar, which made the translation even harder, and up until that entry, there had been hardly anything that had something to do with the redhead's telepathy. It made him give a sigh of relief. At least now he might be on the right track.     Pulling forth his laptop, Crawford set to the task of report writing. For once, it had been an unusually quiet week, which disturbed him somewhat, although he liked to have time to himself. Especially now with the translation of the diaries.     Beginning to type, his mind was still wandering back to the papers on the other end of his desk, an urge to keep on reading building up in the back of his mind. _If he knew_, the American thought to himself. He allowed himself a slight smile. _If he knew._   
  
Meanwhile, Schuldig was sitting in his room, staring intently at the wall opposite his bed. In his head he went over the procedure of building a mental wall. First imagine it there, like a wall of light that stretches into eternity. Then make it solid. Feel it. See it. Touch it. And then it's there. It was simple enough. Just visualize it and know that it's for real.     Schuldig frowned as he concentrated unusually hard. He hadn't had to put any thought into building a wall for several years now and it felt odd to put so much strength and effort into something he had done every minute and every second for years. And yet it didn't work. When he felt the anger building he beat it down, telling himself that okay, so it didn't work this time, but next time it will.     It didn't.     The headache was getting worse again. It was knocking on his mental barriers and he knew that it would find a way in. Once it was inside, it would bring all the screams and whispers and hopes and desires and fears and whatnots from the rest of humanity. It always did. Why would this time be different?     And why won't the wall stand?     The redhead gave an irritated groan and rubbed angrily at his face. "C'mon, Schuldig," he said to himself. "Deep breath… And _concentrate_." Then he shut his eyes and visualized that same, pale blue, shining wall that he had seen for years. With a thought he let it stretch until he couldn't see the ends, and further still. Once he felt sure that the wall really was endless, he concentrated on keeping it that way. Carefully reaching with his mental fingers, he sought to touch it. His hands went right through it. With a sigh of slight annoyance, he pulled his hands back and concentrated on reinforcing the wall, making it thicker, more compact. When another minute or so had passed, he tried to touch it again. This time it was solid. Satisfied, he stepped back and looked it over one more time. It looked strong enough. And he let go of the visualization.     For a second, the wall stood.     Then it crumbled, shrunk and finally disappeared completely.     With an angry growl, he took a hold of whatever lay close and hurled it at the wall. The book hit it and landed on the floor beneath it with a dull thud.     "It's not working," Schuldig told himself and wiped his face on his sleeve. He hadn't even realized that the mental exercise had become such a strain that he was sweating. And the headache began working its way into his consciousness again.     He rose with a sigh of defeat to find the jar of aspirin.   
  
There was a knock on the door to his office. Putting his pen down, he looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Yes?"     "Um, Brad?" Schuldig's voice sounded muffled through the door.     "The door isn't locked," he answered, but when there was no reply and the door wasn't opened he rose from his desk and went to open the door himself. Outside stood Schuldig with a frown on his face, studying the floor. "Yes?" the American said, catching the redhead's attention.     "What?" Schuldig asked, turning his head up to look at the clairvoyant.     "You just knocked on my door."     "I did?" He blinked and quickly corrected himself. "I did."     "Yes you did, now will you tell me why?" Crawford asked, a bit irritated. He was definitely not up for a guessing game.     "I, um… Wanted to ask you something…" He frowned again. He knew he had been on his way to the kitchen to get something and that Brad knew where it was. But what was it that he had been looking for? "I was, um, looking for something, but…" His head suddenly began to spin, pulling his stomach into an unsteady dance, making him feel sick. When one turn came too suddenly, the redhead put a hand over his mouth and ran in the direction of the bathroom.     Brad frowned before following the mind reader. He found Schuldig hunched over the toilet, throwing up.     "Great," the American said, reaching to a shelf to grab a rubber band for the German's hair. "It's only noon and you're already like this." With a determined yet soft motion he gathered the wild red hair and braided it with the ease of someone who had done it a million times before.     Schuldig only coughed before his stomach heaved again. The American clairvoyant reached for one of the thick, blue towels and wet one corner of it in the sink. When Schuldig shook his head and sat back on the bathroom floor, Brad handed him the towel and filled one of the mugs with water.     "Rinse," he said, holding the mug to the dazed-looking redhead.     Schuldig complied, using the towel to wipe his lips. There were times when he wondered why the other cared enough to sit with him on the floor when he felt as if something big and nasty had chewed on him and spit him back out again. Sometimes he was flattered, but mostly it only confused him.     "Feeling better?"     "I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not drunk," Schuldig answered, taking another mouthful of water and spitting it out into the toilet.     "There's something you're not telling me here, Schuldig."     The redhead shrugged his shoulders. He still felt a bit sick, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. He wiped his face on the blue towel.     "Well, either you tell me, or I could just give Estet a call and ask them for every reason possible as to why your resident mind reader is acting strangely."     At this, Schuldig's head snapped up. "You wouldn't."     Brad tilted his head slightly to the side. "I would have to if you won't tell me. I'm not very fond of guessing, especially not when it comes to a wicked telepath such as yourself."     "I'll just take that as a compliment," Schuldig huffed. His throat burned every time he swallowed. "And," he added, "I can't tell you what's going on because I don't know myself what's going on."     "That's a lie." Brad shifted slightly, leaning against the bathtub. "To sum things up; you're having headaches, you're throwing up with no apparent reason, and you look constantly confused. Something is definitely not as usual." He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran that same hand through his hair. "Now, either you tell me, or I'll find out some other way."     For a moment it looked as if the redhead was seriously considering his options, but then he got an almost distant look in his eyes. "Why…" he began, but stopped to lick his lips thoughtfully. "Why did it say 'Florian'?" he asked. He had meant to ask earlier, but he hadn't remembered until then. It had puzzled him, as long as he remembered it, that is.     "What?" The clairvoyant frowned, blowing a particularly irritating strand of raven hair out of his eyes.     "On your paper, some… days ago, I think." He wiped his face on the soft towel once more, blinking several times to clear his vision. It was slowly blurring while the noise in his head began to grow again. He felt as if he would have to throw up again any time then, if he had anything left in his stomach.     "Why do you ask?" The American was watching the redhead intently from behind his glasses. The German seemed to argue with himself for a second or so before he looked up again and shook his head.     "I… I guess you're just checking up on me." Brad frowned. "I mean, looking for what's up." He looked down to the towel in his lap and sighed while twisting it slowly between his fingers. "If I told you what I know, would you find a cure?"     At this Brad furrowed his brow slightly, watching the German with uncertainty. "It depends on what it is. Not everything has a cure, you know."     Schuldig nodded slowly, still twisting the towel between his fingers, but faster now. After a minute or so of silence the voices in his head had grown in intensity to the degree that he felt as if he would start screaming with them at any moment. He got up, dropping the towel into the sink. "The aspirin?"     "What about it?"     "Where is it?"     "Second from the left, where it has always been."     "…Right." And with that, he left, leaving Crawford behind with a frown painted on his face. What _was_ going on?   
  
~   
There was a loud knock on his door, more like a pounding. He pushed his window open and blew a strand of fiery red hair out of his eyes.     "Florian!" He checked his pockets. Lighter, key and some bills. "You come back out here, dammit!" Another hard pound on the door. It would probably give in soon.     With one last deep breath he climbed out the window, sat down on its sill, dangled his legs for a few seconds before turning, grabbing on to the wooden board with his hands. Using his legs to push himself away from the wall, he jumped and landed with an agility unusual even for boys his age. He stayed still for a moment, hearing the door give in to the weight of a grown man. Florian decided that there was no need for him to be yelled at through a window. The shouting done was enough.     Readjusting his ponytail he leaped the fence and was off.   
~   
  
'I thought dad would've been knocked out when I came back home, but he wasn't. Gods, it has never stung like this before. Now he's nailed my window shut and he's fixed the door from the outside in some way. "Sit there and think about what you've done and I might let you out again." Yeah, right. As if I'll just sit here. He'll just wait. I swear I'll find a way to make him hear all this noise. I swear I'll find a way to make his head explode. And when it does, let's see how fucking cocky he is.'     It surprised him how differently Schuldig wrote. In some entries he used a language close to the one of a journalist; at times he wrote like a five-year-old. Crawford absently wondered why. Another thing that puzzled him was the obvious hatred that he could almost feel by just touching the photocopies. Make a head explode. He didn't doubt it was possible, although he did doubt the fact that Schuldig would be able to do such a thing. For all he knew, even though the redheaded German was talented, he was still far from full-fledged. Or maybe he was just very good at hiding his own potential.     Throwing a glance at the timepiece on his desk he realized that it was already past 3 PM. And Schuldig had yet to get up. As far as the clairvoyant knew, the telepath hadn't been out at all for several days now, claiming that the air made him feel sick. Yet, he slept to well past noon. It definitely couldn't be healthy. With a sigh that had become a bad habit he rose from the dark desk and went to wake the redhead up.   
  
The room was dark, thanks to the venetian blinds that was blocking out all light. The entire room looked like chaos, as if someone had gone berserk and thrown things about. Schuldig was lying in a tangle of dark sheets, his arms up and about his head, successfully hiding his face. Crawford walked with determination to the bed and shook the redhead slightly. No reaction. He shook the mind reader again, this time harsher. Still no reaction.     "Very funny. Now, wake up, Schuldig," he said, turning the telepath over onto his back, unwinding his arms. The pale face was completely slack and he was breathing deeply. With a frown, the clairvoyant opened one of the German's eyes to find that he was completely knocked out. Chocolate eyes swept across the dark room and stopped at the nightstand where a jar of pills stood. Picking it up, Brad studied the label. Sleeping pills. There was a warning as well, saying to never take more than two at a time. He looked back to the redhead, wondering just how many he had taken.     "Come on, Schuldig. Wake up." He shook the German again, long this time, not giving up until green eyes blinked open. They looked strangely hazed and it took a while before they focused on the tall American standing bent over the bed.     "…Hunh?"     "About time. It's past 3 PM."     "It…what?" Schuldig blinked repeatedly. His head felt as if it was filled with cotton-balls. He wanted to just close his eyes, roll over and go back to sleep before the voices came back.     "How many of these blue and white pills did you take last night?" Crawford asked, holding up the jar of pills, shaking it slightly to emphasize his words.     "Um…" Schuldig began to frown, but found that the action was too straining, so his face went slack again. "I don't know."     "Well, you obviously took more than the recommended dose, didn't you." He sat down on the bed and put the jar back onto the nightstand. "Why didn't you just tell me that you're having insomnia?"     First Schuldig frowned up at him, then there seemed to be a change in the emerald eyes. Suddenly, he laughed out loud. "You're kidding, right? 'Oh Brad, I can't sleep!'" he said, giggling.     "This is not like you, Schuldig," Brad said, pushing his glasses up his nose. There had been a strange change in the redhead's eyes, and he didn't think it was a good thing. Meanwhile, the German rolled over with his back to the other and kept on chuckling to himself. It irritated the American that the telepath was acting like a ten-year-old. When Schuldig mumbled something about not caring about school and that he would smash the window if he had to, a thought hit the clairvoyant. He cleared his throat and put a firm hand on the telepath's shoulder. Ignoring the obvious weight-loss he said sternly; "Florian, if you don't get up now, your father is bound to find out that you're still in bed."     The reaction he got was far from anything he had expected.     The mental force that slammed into his mind without warning sent him physically tumbling off the bed. The second later Schuldig had thrown himself over the American and handed him a hard blow with the back of his hand.     "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled, raising his hand again, but the raven-haired man caught the thin wrist in mid-air. Using the grip he had, he pulled the redhead down and rolled them over, pinning the telepath to the thick, dark carpet. Schuldig thrashed against the iron grip Brad had on him, shouting at him until his voice had faded to a whisper and his body protested. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't…" Then he stilled, his face turned away to the side, his eyes shut tight.     "Schuldig?" Brad tried carefully. When he got no response he let the redhead go and moved off him. His cheek stung, but he chose to ignore it for the moment being and, if need be, scold the telepath later. Carefully brushing away stray strands of flame-colored hair he said again, "Schuldig?"     At that, the redhead's eyes shot open and he sat up suddenly, throwing his arms about Crawford's neck and hid his face against the American's chest, sobbing, his hands fists clutching at Brad's white dress-shirt. "Don't do that again," he whispered, breathing in gasps. "I can't… Just don't…"     "I'm sorry," Brad said softly, the feeling genuine, hugging the redhead. Whatever was wrong he had to find out soon, before the telepath hurt himself or someone else. "I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."     Schuldig sniffed and hid his face best he could, pressing his ear to the clairvoyant's heart and concentrated on the soft beat as the voices in his head grew stronger again, making him nauseous. He wished they would go away. Closing his eyes, he focused all his attention at the warm body pressed so close, the slow, even breathing and ultimately at Crawford's steady heartbeat. _Maybe_, he thought, _it won't be so bad if I tell him._ Then he reconsidered. He thought of how the pre-cog never seemed to show much regret as to doing away with both things and persons he considered to have played their role. And if he found out that Schuldig could hardly keep his own thoughts in a straight line… _Maybe he'll just shoot me…_ Which, Schuldig found, was exactly what he wanted the clairvoyant to do.   
  
  
  
kinda i want to   
"   
_I can't shake this feeling from my head   
There's a devil sleeping in my bed   
He watches you from across the way   
I cannot make this feeling go away   
  
I know it's not the right thing   
And I know it's not the good thing   
But kinda I want to   
  
I don't know what I should do   
When everything I'm thinking of is you   
All of my excuses turn to lies   
Well maybe God will cover up his eyes   
  
And I know it's not the right thing   
And I know it's not the good thing   
But kinda I want to   
  
Kinda I want to   
Maybe just for tonight   
We can pretend it's alright   
What's the price I pay   
I don't care what they say   
I want to   
I want to (I'll take my chance tonight)   
_"   
  
  
**~tbc~**

* * *

  
  
Ahahaha!!! Be afraid! Be very afraid! I'm on a Utena-high! YEAH! *singing*_Moshiku kushimo shimoku kumoshi mokushi shikumo_! YEAH! Touga! TOUGA! *runs away waving banner saying: redheads rule!*   
...oh yeah. Feed me reviews. I'll love you forever! And put you in the section in the next part! Yeah! If you don't want to review (can't imagine why...) drop me an e-mail! Woo!   
  
  



	3. Chapter III: Dust in the wind

**Won't you close our eyes?**   
  
  
_A/N_: Third chapter! Woohoo! You thought it was strange before? This is when it becomes strange! Oh, yeah! And... I'm on a Gravitation high this time, so.... Beware! Hey, if Omi-kun (I know you're reading this! *nya!*) would dye his hair pink he would look like Shuuichi-kun! Yeah! Cool! And if Brad started freaking out he could be Sakano-san! *ohohoho!* Although Brad's glasses are more stylish, ne. ...I would love seeing him do the Tigereye thingie with the ice-cream. *ohohoho!*   
And man, migraines suck. Poor Schu, ne! And about shooting the painkillers... I've always wondered if Schu is borderline. He has to be in most fics, anyway. *nod nod* And in this part, you get to meet his sister! Yeah! I've already told you I'm bad at German names, but I figured, you take Swedish names and kinda pronounce them a bit differently, and tey sound really German! *hides* Okay, so that was bad.   
Oh, yeah, Kleine is "little" in female form (man, I hope I'm right this time, correct me, ppl!), and I thought, since in Sweden, little girls often call their dolls 'lillan', which is 'kleine', which is 'litte'. Or, well, 'lillan' is 'little one'... But anyway. That's why I chose that name for the doll.   
And, lastly, why Brad says his name is Brad is becuase... I wanted him to seem more human towards Schu and stuff, instead of the unpersonal Crawford.   
  
  
  
_Warnings_: Like before, I suppose. Oh, yeah, and I can't write Farfie, for all of you who wonder "what the hell is this?".   
  
_italics_ means thoughts   
~...~ means flashback   
'...' means diary-entry, or part from a diary-entry   
"..." means telepathic thought, or thought picked up by telepathy   
  
  
_Acknowledgements_: Here goes:   
**Omi-kun** of course, who was just let out of the hospital. Huggles, cute.   
**Mamo-chan!** Call me baby!   
**Lenn-neechan** just because. ^_^;;   
And to all who reviewed, in no particular order (I love you forever, have lots of cookies!):   
**wispykitty** for the cookies! Yeah!   
**ailsinjiin**, yes, he came back, but he's going to space out even more now...   
**Krimson** - hee hee, I don't think he'll be able to help Schu in time! Naaah, I won't be so mean.   
**Bright Shadow** for even more cookies! Woo, I'm gaining weight, poor me!   
**Pyrochan** for the milk, and yes, you can get a German/English dictionary in Japan, or at least in Tokyo. I had ppl check. ^_-;;   
  
  
_Disclaimer_: No owning, no moneymaking... The poem belongs to the Danish poetess Maria Wine (but I translated it myself), the tune belongs to Sarah Brightman... Does anyone really read this, anyway? Prolly not... So I can just write whatever I want! MUAHAHAHA--*cough cough* I need a cigarette. Um, yeah, don't start smoking, kiddies, it'll take about twenty years of your life, and it's expensive, too! Yeah! And when you bake cookies, make sure you don't burn them, and always accept a challenge, or you'll be fried! Yeah!! And when it comes to that mean old .... meanie in Xenogears, I always thought that he--- What, you're still reading? Waaaah, I'm done for!   
  
  
  
**Chapter III: Dust in the wind**   
  
  
Brad frowned at his laptop and tried to focus on his work while ignoring the constant thuds coming from the room above his office - Schuldig's room. It sounded as if something big and quite heavy was thrown repeatedly against the walls and the floor. He didn't feel like going up and interrupt the redhead, since he knew that it would only stay quiet for a minute or so before Schuldig would begin again. For some reason, the voices in the German's head made him react somewhat like an empath; when the voices were angry, he got angry too, when they were sad, he would sit and cry. Crawford wondered absently, while typing in the last few sentences, if that was what was happening. That the telepath was losing control. If it was, he decided that he would try to find help to restore the mind reader's state of mind, as far as possible. But Schuldig had yet to say anything, and if the redhead didn't tell him, he couldn't be sure if he was right or not.     Another thump, then it got quiet. Almost a bit too quiet, considering how the telepath had been acting the last few weeks. He had gotten far more temperamental than before, as well as more easily affected by what happened around him. Thus the American and the Japanese teen had made a silent deal to stay calm and quiet around the redhead, just to be sure that nothing too serious would happen. They took turns in watching over Farfarello, who was at the moment in one of his worse moods, snarling insults and threats at every person he saw. It was especially important to keep Schuldig away from the Irishman at those times, they had learned, or Schuldig would curl up on himself, as if taking the insults to heart, and refuse to speak to anyone for hours and sometimes days.     Just as he was closing the document he heard a gunshot from the second floor of their two-story house. He told himself that it was nothing serious, else he would have had a vision of it happening. Brad rose slowly from his desk and with slow steps he moved towards the staircase, up the stairs, round the corner and down the hallway, making his way towards the closed door leading to the redhead's room. Once standing by the door, he listened to the silence. Down the hall, Nagi's door opened and he stuck his head out. Coffee-brown eyes met the ones that were the color of lapis lazuli for no more than a second. In silent agreement, Crawford knocked.     "Schuldig?"     No answer. He made a mental note to search through the German's room to get rid of anything that he could inflict any damage with. He could feel the teenager watch him as he tried the handle and found the door unlocked. Usually, Nagi would have to unlock the door with the help of his telekinesis. Crawford frowned. Pushing the door open, he looked into the darkened room. Schuldig had kept the venetian blinds down, to let them block out as much light as possible. At times, the telepath was acting as if he was suffering from a migraine; he couldn't stand bright light, nor loud sounds and he suffered nausea. But there were other parts that didn't fit in with the migraine theory. The big change in personality, to name one thing. Schuldig was nowhere near the person he had used to be. He hardly ever dropped a remark about anything, nor did he seem to care about his appearance anymore. His hair remained a tasseled mess, he hardly ever changed into anything else than his pajamas and his lips were chapped. Sometimes when Crawford found him curled up in his bed, he had been tearing at and chewing on his lips to a point where they bled and stung, making the redhead tear even more at the. And yet, his natural beauty hadn't been lost, even in all the mess. Even though his eyes didn't shine with as much vigor as before, they still shone a bright emerald with flecks of blue, underneath eyelids heavy from painkilling drugs. It was the fact that his eyes hadn't hazed over entirely that made the American still hope that here was something left of the Schuldig he had come to know somewhere inside, behind the change.     The room looked as if someone had turned it upside down. Even the short desk had been pushed over. The bookshelf had been pushed over as well, books and magazines lying in a chaotic sea about he wooden furniture. The bed had been turned over so that its legs stuck up into the air; the pillows lay scattered about the room and the comforter lay in a pile right next to the door. Even the nightstand had been knocked over, jars of painkillers littering the floor. There was an entrance hole from a bullet in the wall where the nightstand had once stood, and a shattered jar of yellow painkillers lay in the remains of the blue piece of furniture. The morphine, Crawford noted to himself. It was the strongest painkillers he had been able to find without going into illegal drugs.     The American found Schuldig huddled up on the other side of the bed. He had his legs drawn up against his chest and his long arms were thrown about them, hugging them close. The handgun lay some feet away and the redhead sat staring into thin air, not moving more than he needed to breathe.     "Schuldig?" Crawford tried again, moving slowly around the bed. The last thing he needed was for Schuldig to act as if Brad was yet another threat. He had once, slamming into the clairvoyant's mind with so much force that it had left him with a migraine for several days afterwards.     When he still didn't get a reaction, he crouched down in front of the telepath and put his hands on Schuldig's cold, thin shoulders. The German had hardly eaten anything at all for several weeks, the only times being when Brad had more or less forced him to. The weight-loss was obvious, even though he was wearing two tee shirts. After several long moments, emerald eyes turned to look into the pre-cog's.     "What?" came a soft whisper.     "How are you feeling?" For some reason, Brad found himself whispering as well. He just felt that he needed to be quiet around the telepath. He didn't know why, but he was under the impression that silence made things a bit more bearable.     "…Better."     "Did you have another headache?"     At that, the mind reader chuckled. "I always have a headache, Brad," he whispered.     "I know you do." He settled on the floor, his hands dropping to his lap. "Was it worse this time?"     "Every time is worse than the last time," Schuldig answered, his gaze wandering.     "Why did you shoot the painkillers?"     "I don't know. They stopped working." The telepath shrugged slightly. "They're to no use."     "Schuldig, they're morphine. Nothing else will work better," he told the German, trying to catch his gaze. Schuldig averted his eyes to the floor. The whites were slightly yellow from the morphine and the green eyes were bloodshot from too little sleep.     "Then I guess it doesn't matter. If they don't work I don't know what will." He rested his forehead against his knees. "I don't want to, anymore. I can't do any of this, anymore." He shook his head slowly. "Gods, oh gods, I'm going insane."     "You're not a quitter, Schuldig."     The red head was raised, a thin smile being worn on chapped lips. If he would have smiled just a little bit wider, his lips would have begun to bleed again. "Can't I give up, just this once? Aren't I allowed this one defeat?"     "You're stronger than that," Brad said, trying to convince the telepath. When Schuldig reached a hand towards him, he took it between both of his, warming the cold, bony fingers. "You can't give in to just a headache."     "I'm not like you, you know," he whispered, watching their hands. If there had come anything good from this it would have to be the fact that Crawford had proven to have a heart hidden underneath his cold exterior. "I can't just brush everything off."     "Then try to find a solution."     "I… I don't know…"     "Then tell me what's _really_ wrong, and I'll help you."     "You're lying."     "Why would I be?"     Schuldig pulled his hand back and hugged his knees tightly. "Why would you care so much? What would it matter to you if I go insane?"     When Crawford opened his mouth to answer, Schuldig heard his voice as if it belonged to someone else; a blonde little girl sitting on her knees in front of him, clutching a rag-doll to her chest.   
  
~   
"Florian?" She reached out to him, brushing away hair from his face with clumsy fingers. "Papi says you can come out now." She pulled her hand back and popped a thumb into her mouth.     "Don't do that," Florian said, putting down the magazine he had been flipping through and reaching to take her hand away from her face. He was sitting on the floor behind his bed, as far away from the door as possible. "Your teeth will turn out all weird if you do." He offered her a slight smile and ruffled her hair a little. "How's kindergarten? Is everybody nice to you?"     "Uh-huh," she nodded, golden hair bouncing about her face.     "And are you nice to everybody else?"     She nodded again, smiling now. She was missing one of her teeth, much like any other kid her age. "We get to draw and play. And there's this room where Ms. Gerg reads stories and we can sleep, too."     Florian nodded, smiling at her. She loved it when he was happy.     "And you know what happened yesterday?" She got a very serious look on her face and leaned forward just a bit.     "What?" the redheaded boy asked, trying to match her seriousness.     "Kleine got lost." She held up her rag-doll. "We couldn't find her anywhere, but then we looked in the hall and she was lying under my jacket. Good, huh!" She smiled and hugged the doll. "She's always up to something. I get so worried. Like last week we had to give her a band-aid, because she fell from the table." The blonde girl pointed out the spot where the band-aid had been. "But she's fine now. She would have been fine earlier if you had kissed it, but papi wouldn't let me in. Not even Kleine could visit you." She looked down into her lap, frowning a little. Then she looked up and smiled. "But now you can go out again, so if she gets hurt you can cure it. Won't you, huh?"     "Of course I will," he promised and leaned forward to kiss the rag-doll's head. "Now you better be careful," he said, shaking his finger at the doll. "And you too." He turned to his sister. "If anybody's ever mean to you, tell the teachers, okay?"     "I will!" she said and giggled, holding up the yarn-haired doll to her older brother. "Kleine says she missed you."     "I missed her, too." He shook the doll's hand carefully. Then he furrowed his brow slightly, putting a hand to his forehead.     "Are you having another headache?" She leaned forward and her big, green eyes locked with his. They sat like that for a second then Florian shook his head and smiled.     "It's nothing bad. I'll be fine."     "Are you sure? I can get you one of those pills mami takes."     "How will you do that?"     "Mami won't know. She's not home now."     "Are we alone?" He sincerely hoped so. Maybe he could get out and get some fresh air. He looked over to his sister and changed his mind at the sight of the blonde girl. Of course he would stay in the house, else Anne would get into trouble.     "Nuh-huh." She shook her head. "Papi's home. But he'll go to work soon."     "What time is it?"     "I don't know. I'll go look." She stood up, hesitated, then gave him the rag-doll. "Kleine will stay with you till I come back. So you won't have to be alone."     "Anne?" She turned around and looked at him. Her red stockings had slipped down a little and her red dress had spots of paint on it. "Can you get me a hammer? Or a pair of pincers? And make sure he doesn't see you," he reminded her.     She frowned for a second, leaf-green eyes studying him closely. Then she nodded, wild golden hair bouncing about her face. "Okay!" Then she was off.   
~   
  
"…ig?"     "Huh?" He blinked repeatedly. He hadn't even realized that he had been drifting off into his memories again.     "Ah, there you are." Brad was studying him intently now, as if looking for something. "You just stopped reacting for a while there. Have you taken any pills today?"     Schuldig frowned, then looked away. "I… I don't know. I think I took some this morning… What time is it?"     "About 5.30 PM. Why?"     "…I'm thirsty."     Crawford allowed himself a smile at that. Finally, he wouldn't have to force nutrition down the redhead's throat. "Come on. I'm sure Nagi's getting a bit hungry, too." He hooked an arm about the redhead's thin waist and helped him to his feet. Stumbling slightly, they made it out of the room and into the hallway. When they passed by the teen's door, Crawford stopped to knock. "Nagi? We're going to have something to eat."     "Okay," came the muffled reply through the door. As they continued down the hall, the teenager exited his room and followed them silently. Crawford figured that the normally silent Japanese boy got the big picture of what was happening, even if he never said much about it. It seemed he would rather change the subject or just leave. However he felt about Schuldig's changed persona he didn't mention it. Brad made another mental note to keep an eye on the youth as well as the telepath. It was bad enough that one of them was acting more or less usual; he definitely didn't feel like taking care of more persons, although he knew he would if he would have to. Like it or not, Schwarz had become his family, and it was one he intended to take care of.   
  
Sitting by the round table in the kitchen, Schuldig could have looked like his old self if he had brushed his hair and put on a little of the lost weight. In contrast to how he had been but an hour ago, he seemed to be bursting with life, joking around with Nagi and humming a little on a song that had been popular some months ago, before his headaches had begun. Brad had had to turn around and eye him once when the redhead dropped a cocky remark, sounding almost frighteningly much like his old self.     "How's the headache?" Brad asked over his shoulder, checking on the rice. When he didn't get an answer he turned slightly to see what had caught the telepath's attention. Schuldig was sitting staring into space, his head tilted slightly to one side. He looked strangely calm, while at the same time he reminded Crawford of a patient at an asylum. Cold hands grabbed a firm hold on his lungs and made it hard to breathe as he walked up to the table, bending over to look into the mind reader's face. If he didn't know any better, he would say that something was being processed in the redhead's thoughts, resembling the incident some months ago when Schuldig had jumped him. And he didn't like it. "Schuldig?"     The German blinked once before looking up at the clairvoyant. "Hm?" When their eyes met, Crawford didn't recognize the soul behind those emerald orbs. Somehow, Schuldig looked more childish than before, more lost.     "Are you okay?" the American asked, searching the redhead's face with a furrowed brow.     "Um, I think so." He blinked again, tilting his head and watching Crawford with no certain intent. "What's your name again?"     Crawford felt how Nagi turned behind him and he could swear he felt the frown on the teenager's face. "Brad," he said slowly. "Why do you ask?"     "Well… I wasn't so sure, so I just wanted to double check." Schuldig quickly averted his gaze to whatever else as long as it wasn't the clairvoyant. Brad didn't buy the excuse, and it was obvious that the telepath knew it. Nagi walked up behind Crawford and looked at the redhead with slightly narrowed eyes, as if trying to see what was wrong. Schuldig refused to look up, not wanting to meet the wondering gazes of his teammates.     After several long moments, the telepath let out a slightly nervous laugh.     "The, um, rice?" he suggested without raising his gaze from his lap. His hands looked strangely thin even to himself, the pale skin stretching painfully over nothing but bones. Uneasy, he redirected his gaze to the floor.     The Japanese teen went back to the stove while the clairvoyant looked intently at the redhead. Schuldig chewed nervously on his lower lip, his teeth tearing at it until it started bleeding again, the metallic taste spreading in his mouth, making him feel nauseous again.     "Don't do that," Brad said softly then, taking a gentle hold on the German's chin and frowned down at him. "Chapped lips aren't very pretty." When Schuldig finally met his gaze, he added, "I'll get you some lip-balm later, okay?"     "Oh… Okay."     At that, the pre-cog offered a rare smile and straightened his back before walking back to the stove and throwing the chopped vegetables into the wok. The redhead began chewing on his lip again. It had become an unconscious habit of his. But when his gaze wandered to Crawford's broad back he promptly remembered what the other had said and stopped. Even though he didn't care what he looked like, it did matter what Crawford thought, for reasons he couldn't name. Somehow, it just felt important to him that the older man liked looking at him.     The last few weeks had been hell on all of them, and it hadn't helped that the mind reader had noticed something changing in himself. The Estet warning came back to him. Headaches, nausea, memory-loss… He rested his head in his hands. What was next? Loss of personality and self? He had some trouble remembering. But he didn't want to worry Brad, so he kept quiet about it for the moment being. Schuldig promised himself that he would tell once it got worse. If he remembered to mention it, that was.     Just as his head started aching again he felt familiar warm, comforting hands on his shoulders and knew instantly who it was.     "Schuldig? Are you sure you're okay?" The redhead looked up into mocha-colored eyes.     "Yeah, I'm fine," he assured the older man. "I'm just a bit thirsty." Brad wasn't convinced, but he stayed quiet as he fetched the telepath a glass of water.     "The food'll be ready soon," Crawford informed him as he handed the glass over. When the redhead nodded, he went back to cooking again.   
  
Schuldig could very well feel both Nagi and Brad watching him while he fished around for vegetables with his chopsticks, without holding the food long enough to put it into his mouth. He really didn't feel like eating, but he knew that he had to, else Crawford would start feeding him again. Although he did think that Brad looked cute when he sat with the chopsticks and more or less talked and forced the redhead into eating, Schuldig knew that if he did try to eat something he would most probably throw it up again in a matter of minutes. He could never keep his food long enough to be able to use the nutrition it was supposed to give. That was mostly why he had lost so much weight. But the oracle seemed to ignore that fact and still tried to convince the telepath to eat despite his protests. And yet, Schuldig wondered (at the times he remembered to, anyway) why Brad cared so much. He would ask, but he never got the time to do so before he forgot again.     "Do you want me to help you with that?" Crawford asked, nodding towards the mind reader's bowl. Schuldig shook his head, careful not to increase the constant ache. But as he dropped yet another piece of cabbage, Brad got up from his seat and sat down next to Schuldig, taking the bowl from Schuldig's weakened hands.     "Hey, I'm not done with that!" the redhead protested, but Crawford seemed not to listen. He took the chopsticks from the German as well, and fished up enough food for a mouthful.     "Now eat. Don't make me have to become a mother hen, Schuldig, for it is not a role I am fond of." The clairvoyant held up the chopsticks towards the telepath, meaning for him to eat it. Schuldig didn't.     "Listen," he said, "I'm not a child. And besides, I'm not hungry." The last sentence was said with a slight wrinkling of his nose towards the offered food, and he turned his face away from the American.     "At this point, I don't care if you're hungry or not, you're going to eat, anyway." He still held the chopsticks towards the redhead, but Schuldig didn't move to accept. The clairvoyant shot a glance at the teenager, who barely nodded, and the next second Schuldig felt his mouth being forced open. He hated this but decided to play along and eat instead of having food literally forced down his throat.      "Okay!"     The mental scream caused Nagi to almost fall off his chair while Crawford dropped the chopsticks to instinctively press his hand to his right temple. When they looked at the redhead, Schuldig was rubbing his jaw slightly. "Okay," he repeated softly, not looking at either of them. "Just… Don't do that."     "If you would just do as you're told-"     "Really, can't you resist a lecture, Brad?" Schuldig cut in before the American could get started. He reached to take his bowl back. "Now, you need to eat, too, so I'll just feed myself."     "Don't run off and throw up the second you're done," Crawford said, watching the redhead with slightly narrowed eyes.     "Really, Brad, do you think I enjoy throwing up?" He looked down into the bowl and poked at some noodles with one of his index fingers. "It'd be nice to actually keep some of it once in a while, you know."     They ate in silence. Schuldig forced himself to eat at least half of his bowl's contents, and once he was done, he rose without a word and went back to his room to light another of his endless cigarettes. His eyes swept across the trashed room. There. The yellow pills lay on the floor in the remains of the jar that had once held them. The throbbing in his head made him sit down in the ruin of his room, reaching with a shaky hand to grab one of the pills and he swallowed it dry. Even if they didn't work any more, they were addictive. He leaned back against his toppled bed and took another long drag of his cigarette, ignoring the raven-haired man that watched him from the door.     "If I asked you, would you help me?" he asked, blowing out a gray cloud of smoke.     "If I could, yes," Brad answered, moving into the room and taking a seat next to the redhead.     "Do you think Russian Roulette has something to do with fate?"     "I think it has everything to do with stupidity."     Schuldig laughed softly, something that caused him to cough. Ignoring the stinging in his throat, he put the stick of nicotine to his lips again. "You're taking my gun away." It wasn't a question.     "That I am."     "Why?"     "So that you won't try to hurt yourself."     "If one wants to badly enough, one can always find a way to hurt oneself," the redhead replied, crushing the rest of the cigarette against an ashtray that was over-flown with butts just like the one he had just added. When he lighted another, Crawford refrained from commenting.     "Will you? Find a way, I mean?"     When he turned his face to look at the clairvoyant, he found that the other was frowning at him. Screwing his face up into something that was meant to resemble a smile, he blew smoke out of his nose before leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on the other's lips.     "You," he said, leaning back again, "hold my life in your hands."     "What?" He looked at the German, trying to catch his gaze, but found that the other was watching the floor, slipping one of his hands into Brad's.     Schuldig drew a deep breath, pressing Crawford's hand gently.     "I need your help."   
  
  
  
  
_Det måste finnas ett   
lurande mörker inom dig -   
ett mörker som du fruktar   
Jag tror att du rätt så snart   
föredrar att återgå till den   
trygga golvsängen   
Du tänder genast en cigarett   
blåser ut ett litet svävande moln -   
och tystnaden omkring dig   
är full av hemliga tankar_   
- Maria Wine, "Att gå på mossa", 2000   
  
_There has to be a   
lurking darkness inside of you -   
a darkness which you fear   
I think that you will pretty soon   
prefer to return to the   
safe floor-bed   
You instantly light a cigarette   
blow out a tiny floating cloud -   
and the silence around you   
is full of secret thoughts_   
- Maria Wine, "To walk on moss", 2000   
  
  
  
Dust in the wind   
"   
_I close my eyes   
Only for a moment   
And the moment's gone _

All my dreams   
Pass before my eyes   
In curiosity 

Dust in the wind   
All we are is dust in the wind 

Same old song   
Just a drop of water   
In an endless sea 

All we do   
Crumbles to the ground   
Though we refuse to see 

Dust in the wind   
All we are is dust in the wind 

Don't hang on   
Nothing lasts forever   
But the earth and sky 

It slips away   
And all your money won't   
Another minute buy 

Dust in the wind   
All we are is dust in the wind   
Dust in the wind   
Everything is dust in the wind   
"   
  
  
**~tbc~**

* * *

  
  
So there! Third part up.... I've got one more part on the hard-drive and then I have to start writing again... *boohoo*   
Ah, well. Keep on feeding me reviews! Yeah! You already know I'll love you forever, but anyway! I need help to keep writing, so encourage me, minnasama! *huggles*   
  
  



	4. Chapter IV: Deliver me from all of the m...

**Won't you close our eyes?**   
  
  
_A/N_: Well, well.... This is the last finished chapter... I've begun on a fifth, but I don't know if it's going to be the last or not. So there'll be either one or two more chapters. I just haven't decided yet, but I _have_ decided on an ending! Go me! Muahaha! It's a *beep* ending! I won't tell you! Woohoo! No, I'm off to go partying and come home at five AM and watch Utena till I drop together with Nagi-kun and Omi-kun and Lenn-neechan!   
  
  
  
_Warnings_: Okay, dokay, pretty much the same as before, but... Character DEATH!! Muahaha! Well, not Brad, not Schu or anyone... But one of the original characters. Hee hee. But the death-scene sucks royally.   
  
_italics_ means thoughts   
~...~ means flashback   
'...' means diary-entry, or part from a diary-entry   
"..." means telepathic thought, or thought picked up by telepathy   
--...-- means a vision   
  
  
_Acknowledgements_: Well, well, here ges, again!   
**Lenn-neechan**, always always! What would I do without my neechan! Älskar dig, sötnos!   
**Omi-kun** (yes, that is his given name ^_^;;), don't you dare try to kill yourself again! We'd miss you sooooo much!   
**Mamo-chan**, ohisashiburinoyo! Eeto, utenano animeno utaha "hohowo yoseatte utsuru shashinno egaoni sukoshino sabishisa tsumekonde" toitteita. sorejaa atashimo itteiruyone!   
**Sabin** because I love you sooo much and because you ignore me when I'm having one of my "moods" and yell at you. Förlåt, förlåt, vill inte vara så elak.   
**Nagi-kun**, just because! Yeah!   
And all the people who reviewed for the last chapter (at least thus far, sorry if I'm missing someone), in no particular order, who get cookies! All of you:   
**ailsinjiin**, well, the chapter-a-day thing is about to end! I haven't written the fifth (and last?) chapter yet! Weiss won't make an appearence. And Nagi is based (kinda) on the Nagi above, only Nagi above is more hentai. -_-;;   
**Krimson**, of course Schu'd ask for help. ^_^;;   
**Bright Shadow**, *bow bow* thank you!   
**Glory**, I don't think anybody deserves to go nuts or kill themself, but... Maybe I'll be mean to Schu! I always end up writing sugary stuff, though...   
**DragonSoul**, *bounce* I'm gonna give you more cookies! Just because!   
  
  
  
_Disclaimer_: Nothing new here, is there? Um.... Should anybody sue me, who would pay, anyway? I sure as hell won't. Just because I can't afford it. Hee hee! ^-^ But... Maybe I could pay you in cookies? Yeah! I rule at baking chocolate-cakes! I'll pay you in those!   
  
  
  
**Chapter IV: Deliver me from all of the madness**   
  
  
Brad sat at the edge of his bed, combing his hair with his hand, not minding the other body still resting soundly underneath the thick comforter. He hadn't wanted Schuldig to have to stay in his own room, even though Nagi did offer to put things back the way they should be, nor did he want the redhead to take the couch. So the only reasonable solution had been to put Schuldig in his own bed and take the couch himself. Although once he had made to leave after making sure the redhead had taken the sleeping pills he couldn't live without, Schuldig had tugged onto his hand, asking Brad to stay with him, just until he was asleep. But Crawford had fallen asleep as well with the telepath's thin, cold body pressed up against his own and he had slept so soundly that his sleep had lasted throughout the entire night. The pills had yet to stop working as the mind reader was still snoozing softly, curled up in the narrow bed. With an almost soft motion, Brad moved to push some vagrant strands of fiery hair from the German's ghastly pale face.     When Schuldig had admitted that he needed the other's help, Brad had considered giving up on the diaries as helping the redhead would most probably take up the time he used for the translation. But the photocopies had become something of a weird entertainment, and he had found that he couldn't put them away, even though he didn't need them anymore. He had always been able to see the future, or at least for as long as he could remember, but the past… The past intrigued him in a way the future couldn't. It was one thing to learn of a future by being told of it, as in the case with Nagi, or to read about it, as with Farfarello, but it was quite another to learn about it on his own. After having thought about it for several long hours, he had decided that he was not about to give it up. At least not without a fight.     Schuldig, though, had yet to tell him exactly what was wrong. The redhead had only curled long, thin arms about him, pressing close to the body-heat of the older man, and whispered random words and sentences that floated through his mind slowly enough for him to catch them. Brad didn't know what else to do than to hug him back and listen, eventually resting his head against the other's, loving how the wild hair teased his nose. He had always liked redheads, and even though Schuldig was male, he had found lately that it didn't matter; he cared for him, anyway.     Behind him, Schuldig groaned in his sleep and turned over, curling around the American where he sat. Brad found it strange how the telepath was constantly cold, as if he couldn't contain his own body-heat, or what little heat he had wasn't enough to keep him warm. Even tough Crawford had never considered himself to be very warm, he must seem like an oven in comparison to the redhead. Sighing softly, the clairvoyant reached to put another blanket over the sleeping form, hoping that it would help in warming Schuldig.     When he rose from the bed, it barely just shifted, but it was enough to wake the sleeping mind reader up. Turning, Crawford was caught by two emerald eyes blinking open to focus on him. Brad leaned down carefully, watching the hazy eyes blink repeatedly. "I'm just going to get myself some breakfast, Schuldig. Go back to sleep."     The redhead shook his head slowly. "One cup of coffee and I'll be fine."     "Really now. I didn't mean to wake you up."     "You didn't. I just… Happened to wake up just now." Schuldig smiled as widely as his chapped lips would allow him to. Brad reached into the drawer of his bedside table and picked up the lip-balm he had promised earlier.     "Here you go. And you should drink more, too. It might be dehydration."     "I will. …try." Schuldig accepted the balm and then turned to look out the window through the blinds. It had been weeks, if not even months since he had been outside the house. There were times when he had been feeling a bit better and had put on some clothes, grabbed his keys and put his hand on the handle of the front door, but then he had changed his mind and withdrawn instead. It was easier to just pretend as if it didn't matter that he didn't feel like going out, even though he could feel the others watch him with worry and sometimes pity as he climbed back up the stairs. He hated pity. Hated it when they exchanged looks that he knew exactly what they meant. 'I feel sorry for him.' 'We should do something about this.' 'Fucking pretty fucking German. Shut up shut up shut up shut up…'     Farfarello was the one he worried about most. If he was left alone with the Irishman for too long he got nervous. Probably because the words, the thoughts that came form the Irishman was a bit too much to take for him. He was used to be able to filter out those things, but now that his walls had fallen and he didn't fare much of a chance to rebuild them, he couldn't keep out the promises of what would happen to him if he mentioned the one word that seemed to drive the psychopath crazy. He didn't even dare to think the word, in case his thoughts bled into the minds of the others. He had found that he had some trouble to keep his thoughts out of others' heads just as he had trouble to keep others' thoughts out of his own head. Once, his thoughts had bled into Farfarello's and the Irishman had gone more or less insane with rage over the prayer he had uttered in his mind. If Nagi hadn't been home, he didn't know what he would have done. He definitely didn't feel like being pinned to the kitchen floor again, feeling as if his ribcage would break if the other had leaned down just a bit more. He couldn't think of any other time when he had been so thankful that he lived together with a telekinetic. A telekinetic who didn't hate his guts, that is. But then again, he couldn't really remember if he had ever been more thankful than that, so perhaps it didn't count.     At the moment, he could hear the Irishman's crude chants over and over in his head, promising that once he got a hold on the 'god-lover', as he put it, he would do both this and that; things that Schuldig didn't want to know of but was forced to see nonetheless.     "What?"     Schuldig had forgotten about the clairvoyant and nearly jumped upon hearing his voice. When he turned his head to look at the other, he saw the usual concern and worry in the coffee-colored eyes. It disturbed him to know that no matter what he did or said, the oracle would just look at him with that same look on his face. It made Schuldig feel like a child that had done something wrong, but couldn't think of a way to redeem himself.     "You looked…" He wanted to say frightened, but he didn't think it would be very clever to say that to the redhead at the time being.     "What?" Schuldig demanded, this time turning around to fully face the American. He hated not knowing and he hated it when people kept secrets from him. It was most probably a trait he had acquired thanks to his telepathy. Being a telepath made you almost virtually all-knowing. To have something kept away from you was about the most annoying thing that a telepath could think of.     "Nothing. Your eyes just… Changed." He couldn't think of anything better to say, because he didn't want to lie, but at the same time, he didn't want to tell the whole truth. It was a strange feeling, not wanting to lie to the redhead, even though he knew very well that he had been lied to several times before by the telepath. At the moment, though, it didn't bother him.     "What do you mean, changed?" Schuldig asked, tilting his head slightly to one side. The memory of something else was stabbing at him, nearly screaming at him that he should know what the other was talking about. He knew that it had happened before, he just couldn't remember what the result had been.     "Just… Never mind." Brad sat back down again, pulling the comforter to fit it snugly about the redhead's body. Schuldig seemed not to notice, just looking at the raven-haired man with a slight frown on his face. Brad was moving as if he was a robot, the motions automatic. It was obvious that he was thinking of something else.     "What are you thinking?" Schuldig asked carefully, ducking his head somewhat to be able to catch Crawford's gaze. He didn't manage to.     "Why don't you just read it?" the oracle shot back. Brad nearly started. It had come out harsher than he had intended it to. Shaking his head slowly, he reached to the nightstand again, and picked up a jar that he had used to collect the yellow pills in. "How's your head?"     Schuldig chuckled. "Never mind. It's not getting better, so stop asking." He still watched the American's profile, trying to find out what was bothering him, but his telepathy had taken a run out the door at the moment, and he only managed to let in more noise from the outside world. With something of a frown mixed with curiosity, he asked, "What's your name again?"     Crawford's head snapped up in surprise, and he watched the redhead with slight confusion. "Why do you ask?"     "Don't tease me. My memory's not what it used to be, you know," Schuldig shot back, a bit annoyed with both himself and the American.     "Brad. Try to remember it."     "And I'm here because…?"     "What? You're kidding, right?"     Schuldig looked away. After a moment of silence, he let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah. I'm just joking with you." He twisted a corner of the blanket around his fingers, not wanting to meet the other's gaze.     "Listen, Schuldig, you asked me to help you yesterday." Before he continued, he said softly, "Right?" At Schuldig's slight nod, he continued. "But I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong. And not just that you're having headaches. What's _really_ wrong."     Schuldig heaved a deep sigh. How would he go about this…?     "Well, I don't really know what's wrong…" he began, but then laid back down on the bed, pushing back into the pillows and studying the ceiling. "I guess… I don't know."     "Can you at least tell me something? Anything that'll help me?" Brad tried, fingering the jar restlessly. Afraid that he would drop it, he put it down on the bed.     "This'll just sound stupid."     "It doesn't matter."     "Okay."     They stayed silent for a while, Schuldig watching the white ceiling, Crawford watching the redhead. Then, Schuldig drew a shaky breath.     "I can't filter. The walls won't work. The noise grows constantly. I'm getting an even worse migraine."     And that was that. Even though Brad sat still, waiting for a continuation, none came. The only thing he could think of to say was, "Do you want anything?"     "A pill'd be good right about now," Schuldig agreed and was handed the jar, taking a pill and swallowing it dry. "I don't expect you to know what to do about it, just…" He looked out the window, or as far as he was able to since the blinds were still closed. "It'd be nice not to have to go about this on my own."     "All you have to do is ask," Brad said, an uncharacteristic gentleness coloring his voice. All the things that had once irritated him about the redhead now made the mind reader strangely attractive. The thought startled him enough to make him almost jump physically. He found Schuldig attractive? Well, it was no secret that the redhead was handsome, pretty even. He had used it to his favor several times, but Brad had never allowed the German to use it to gain his ends when it involved the American. But now it was somehow different. Crawford found that he didn't particularly mind. Where Schuldig lay at the moment, his hair was fanned out about him, the wild flame-colored mane not brushed, but smelled richly of the honey-melon shampoo he favored. Even though Schuldig didn't seem to care much about his appearance any more, he did still take showers that lasted for at least half an hour at least once every day. Once, though, Brad had heard the shower running for nearly one and a half hour and when he had gone     to check, the redhead had collapsed to the floor of the stall, the water running cold. It had taken two days before he had gotten warm again.     Looking at the redhead made his thoughts falter for the fraction of a second before he caught himself.     "Estet told me of something like this once," Schuldig said suddenly. His voice sounded close to a broken whisper, probably because of his not drinking enough. Crawford waited silently for him to go on. "They said that some telepaths react like empaths. That their Talent hurts them." He didn't move, only stared up at the ceiling without seeing it. "That they lose themselves little at a time. I can't remember exactly what they said, though…" He frowned slightly, but then his forehead smoothed again. "Headaches, nausea, memory-loss, then something about personality and shell and something… I can't really remember…"     They fell silent. Then,     "I'll see if I can find anything. Just take it easy. I'll get you something to drink and once you've downed it, just go back to sleep. There's no use in your wasting your energy." With that, Crawford rose from the bed for the second time that morning, but this time, one of Schuldig's thin hands caught onto his, like the night before. When Crawford turned back around, Schuldig tugged him down and pressed balm-covered lips against his in a chaste kiss.     "Thank you," he whispered, their faces so close that their foreheads touched.     "I promised I'd help you as far as possible," Brad answered, closing his eyes and drawing in the other's scent. Although it irked him somewhat to be kissed by another male, he pushed it away. If that was what Schuldig needed, then he'd let him.     "If nothing works…" The redhead trailed off and left his words hanging.     "Then there's nothing I can do."     "Spare me the pain. If there's nothing to be done, at least do that," Schuldig asked, and Brad opened his eyes, pulling back just a little, just enough to study the telepath.     Even though he wasn't sure he could do such a thing, Brad said, "I'll try. If nothing else works, I'll try."     Content, Schuldig pulled away, lying back down and closing his eyes, looking as if he had already fallen asleep again. The clairvoyant left as quietly as he possibly could, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Leaning against the door, he covered his face with his hands. _How do I do this?_ ? he thought to himself with a hint of despair. _I can't just give up if nothing works… I'll just have to wait and see._ Nodding to himself, he pulled himself up from his slouch against the door and walked with determined steps towards the kitchen. _Just wait and see._

Schuldig sat curled up in one corner of the couch, staring through the television. In the other corner sat Farfarello, who constantly threw glances in the German's direction. Between them, acting the barrier, sat Brad, trying to ignore both of them. He flipped through the channels, deciding on an American news channel. Sky News. He missed home.     The redhead sat quiet, twisting a strand of hair about one of his index fingers in a nervous gesture he had picked up. He was chewing on his lower lip again, but Crawford didn't bother telling him not to. It seemed to be an impossible task to get the mind reader to stop. He just wouldn't. At least he was using the lip-balm and he was drinking properly again. His eating habits were still almost nonexistent, though. It seemed that no matter how hard Crawford tired to get him to start eating again, nothing worked. But he wouldn't give up, wouldn't stop feeding him until Schuldig got better again.     Sighing, he leaned back, allowing himself to slouch slightly. He had been so stressed these last few days that he decided he deserved slouching.     Meanwhile, Schuldig was caught in his own world again. Words, thoughts, feelings, they all seemed to mix and become something else, something new in his head. Then, as there were pictures of police and barking dogs flicking on the screen, he lost himself in his own thoughts again. 

~   
He heard his parents fight again. Telling his sister to stay in her room, he sneaked down the staircase and sat on the floor next to the door leading to the living room, listening. They were fighting about school again.     "The kid's too stupid! It's a waste of money, sending him to that school!" His father. Florian made a face.     "You're not having enough faith in him! You're making him change schools every month, no wonder he can't get good grades!" His mother. She was always on his side, for some reason. There was something about his mother that he didn't quite like, but she was the only grown up who stood up for him thus far, so he couldn't make himself say anything mean about her.     "I don't fucking care. If he doesn't do better soon, I'm sending him off to my old school. At least then he'll grow up to be something, even though he's an idiot."     That hurt. He wasn't an idiot, he was just constantly behind in his schoolwork, much thanks to his father who never left him alone if he could help it.     "How _dare_ you! About my son!"     "Great, mom," Florian muttered to himself. Things never ended well when she talked back like that. "Some people never learn."     Not seconds later came the sound of the first hit.     "No wonder he can't get better grades; he's got the insanity from you!" Florian pricked his ears. Perhaps his parents did know something, anything, about the voices in his head. "Your father ended up in the loony bin, and his mother before him! Now your fucking son, too!"     "Stop it! He's not insane!"     Another hit.     "He's just as fucking insane as you are!"     Florian sneaked back up the stairs. He didn't want to know the rest.   
~ 

Brad frowned somewhat as Schuldig rose suddenly, climbing the stairs as though he was afraid that someone would hear him. The American decided he would follow, just in case, as soon as the current news-report was over. 

~   
The headache was getting worse again. It wasn't so much that it pounded, like it usually did, but rather that there was so much to listen to at the same time that he couldn't. It felt as if his head would explode if he didn't do anything about it soon.     Stumbling into his room, he dug around in the top drawer of his desk. There. A tiny plastic bag that he had bought some nights ago, filled with pills. To numb his mind. It had been expensive, but after he had got to test one of the white pills he had decided that he didn't care what was in them or what they cost; they made the voices into whispers, and that was all he needed to know. Snatching money from his father had been a hard task, but he had managed to get the few hundred that he needed, and now, with the bag in his hand, he frowned. Nobody had said anything about how many he should take. And since this was a killer headache that only seemed to get worse… Maybe two.     Popping them into his mouth, he curled up onto his bed and closed his eyes, feeling his mind go numb, being filled with nothing.     Smiling, he floated away into a dark abyss where the voices couldn't find him.   
~ 

When Brad found him, Schuldig lay curled up on the floor of his room. In one hand was the opened jar of morphine, but most of the pills lay on the thick carpet. Worried, he checked the redhead's eyes. Well, he was still there, only knocked out.     Breathing a sigh of relief, Crawford collected the thin body into his arms and carried him off to the clairvoyant's room. Once making sure the German was safe beneath the covers, he sat down beside him, brushing away vagrant strands of hair from the telepath's face and smiled softly down at him.     "I'll get you better," he whispered. "I promise." 

~   
He was awakened by rough hands that shook him. He hated it when his father woke him up. Since it was still dark out and it was early fall, it had to be sometime in the middle of the night.     "Go away," he hissed, but was met by a slap.     "Get up. You're going to the place where you belong."     He could smell the alcohol on his father's breath. It made him choke.     "I'm staying right here. It's a school-night," he retorted even though his cheek stung.     "You're not going to school anymore. You're fucking insane, and you're going away."     Harsh movements pulled him out of bed and urged him towards his door. Barefooted, only wearing his pajamas, Florian stumbled through the door to his room.     "What do you think-"     "I found the drugs. I'm not having a fucking junkie in this house."     He nearly fell down the stairs, but managed to grab onto the railing at the last moment. The front door was open and the car was standing with its engine on. Obviously, things were serious this time.     Florian yelped as he was grabbed by his hair and more or less thrown into the back seat. Not being able to get the child-safe locks up, he could only sit there, trying to talk his father into turning the car around. The man didn't.     When he was dragged across the parking lot the bare soles of his feet were scraped raw from the asphalt, and Florian had to bite back a sob of pain. Pushed into the sterile-looking building, the soon-to-be teenager froze. Thoughts came crashing against him, all of them so horrible that it made his nightmares seem like warm, fuzzy things. The shock made his knees buck underneath him. He couldn't move even though he wanted to.     "That's right, you fuck," he heard his father tell him, although the man's voice was more like a whisper compared to the screams in his head. "This is where I'm leaving you."     "No," Florian breathed. He could take a lot of things, hell, he could even take being dragged up in the middle of the night and thrown into a car, but to stay there where everything screamed, that he could not. "I can't. Let me out." When he tried to run back outside, a strong hand took a hold on his shoulder and held him where he was.     "The only place you're going is where you are now."     "No!" The tiny redhead chanced a kick but it didn't seem to do any damage. White-clad persons were hurrying up to them. "Let me go!"     "Shut up."     "I said, let me go!"     Then something happened that he hadn't counted on. For a moment less than a second it felt as if all the screams were collected into a spear in his mind. With feverish determination, he lunged the spear at his father's mind and the impossible happened. At first he thought he dreamed it, but then, as he felt the blood on his own face, he realized how real it was.     His father's eyes widened and became impossibly large as his stomach emptied itself. He threw up over the floor as his nose began to bleed. First it was just a trickle, but it grew into a steady rush of blood. Little by little, blood made its way out of his ears. Putting his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to shut the screams out, blood spurted through his fingers and then Florian tried to look away, but he couldn't.     The man's head literally exploded. Something dark and wet hit the tiny redhead in his face. He wiped it off with the arm of his pajamas. And yet, he couldn't stop watching. It was his fault. He had made the hard bone of the skull give way, had caused that body slump down, with nothing for a head. All that was left was some flesh that clung to the neck, hanging from torn skin, and the bone, white for a second, then pinkish as it was drenched in the crimson fluid. He couldn't tear his gaze from the mutilated body. _Me. Me. Me._ He smiled. Then his head began to spin. He felt tired. As he slumped to his knees, one of the white-clad men hurried up to him, crouching down beside him, holding him. Florian felt his pajamas go wet from the sticky fluid. It didn't bother him. The blood was warm, nearly oozing as it poured over the floor. Although he knew it should be irking him, it was a nice feeling. He felt cold.     All around him the white-clad persons talked excitedly. 'That's him! It is!' they told each other, seemingly not caring about the bleeding corpse.     "How are you doing?" the man holding him asked.     Florian smiled slightly. "I killed him."     "That you did. What's your name?"     He hesitated slightly before answering. "Schuldig. My name's Schuldig. I did it." He giggled, the realization making him feel giddy. "I did it."     Then the darkness of exhaustion swallowed him.   
~ 

"Schuldig? Schuldig!"     Brad shook the twisting redhead over and over, trying to wake him from whatever dream he was having. The telepath was tossing and turning, mumbling things in broken German. Suddenly his eyes bolted open and he sat straight up, breathing in gasps.     "…Are you okay?"     Schuldig threw his arms about Brad, giggling.     "I did it," he whispered. "I blew his head up. He's dead. I killed him. I did it." He kept on rambling and Crawford listened half-heartedly. After a minute or so, the redhead had switched to German, mumbling over and over, giggling and breathing in gasps.     Then suddenly, he went quiet. Looking up at Brad, he frowned. "Who are you?"     Calming his nerves that had jumped at the question, Brad did his best to answer. "I'm Brad, remember?"     Schuldig frowned. "No, not really." Upon seeing Crawford's slightly hurt expression, he hurried to say, "I'm sorry. Maybe I'll remember later. I'm so bad at remembering names."     "It's okay, I suppose." The clairvoyant hugged the redhead carefully. "Now go back to sleep, okay?"     "Okay." The mind reader lay back down again, curling up. "Good night."     "Good night." Before he had the time to realize what he was doing, Brad leaned down and caught the telepath's lips in a soft kiss. "Try to sleep." Then he left.     It wasn't until he was in the kitchen that he realized that the German had spoken in a heavy accent. Suddenly unnerved, Brad got a vision.     --Schuldig, wrapped in a large white shirt, sitting on the bathroom floor. There's a red rose beside him. Its petals wither as he looks at it. --     Stumbling to a chair, he sat down, his face in his hands. "I'll help him. I'll help him. I'll help him."     He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep. 

  
  
Deliver me   
"   
_Deliver me   
Out of my sadness   
Deliver me   
From all of the madness   
Deliver me   
Courage to guide me   
Deliver me   
Strength from inside me _

All of my life   
I've been in hiding   
Wishing there was someone just like you   
Now that you're here   
Now that I've found you   
I know that you're the one to pull me through 

Deliver me   
Loving and caring   
Deliver me   
Giving and sharing   
Deliver me   
The cross that I'm bearing 

All of my life   
I was in hiding   
Wishing there was someone just like you   
Now that you're here   
Now that I've found you   
I know that you're the one to pull me through   
Deliver me   
Oh, deliver me 

All of my life   
I was in hiding   
Wishing there was someone just like you   
Now that you're here   
Now that I've found you   
I know that you're the one to pull me through   
Deliver me   
Won't you deliver me?   
"   
  
  
**~tbc~**

* * *

  
  
Ohohoho! There it is! (Yeah, the tune belongs to Sarah Brightman... I didn't mention that, did I?) I have begun writing on the fifth part, but I've only written about a page... Brad starts to get worried! Eeheeheehee! (--?) Be patient, I've got lots of finals coming up... I'm graduating this summer, which means I have to pass... So no matter how much I want to just write, I can't! And I've got Inubradley to write on, too... I've only written like one paragraph or something on the second part to that... *boohoo* Oh, well. I'll just go comfort myself with X again. Yeah. And anybody who hasn't seen that movie yet - shame on you! It like totally rocks! And Ken's seiyuu does Kamui! Woo! Woo! And Yuki's seiyuu does Yuuto and ... *mweeheehee* Sess's seiyuu, the mighty Narita Ken, does Fuuma! Woohoo! So go see it! Yeah! *runs away*   
  
  



	5. Chapter V: [untitled as of yet]

**Won't you close our eyes?**   
  
  
_A/N_: This is just as far as I've come on the fifth chapter... I'm trying, I really am, but I've gotten stuck. Have any ideas? Please tell me!   
And thanks for the reviews, I love you, minna-sama! Forever!   
  
  
**Chapter V: [untitled]**   
  
  
Schuldig slept long after that. Nineteen hours, and he was still asleep. Crawford had carefully crawled into the bed to join the redhead beneath the navy covers, hoping to bring some comfort by just being there. After having exhausted all his sources, both those available and those not, he still hadn't found anything that could help him in any way. It bothered the clairvoyant. Bradley Crawford always found what he was looking for. But as it seemed, there was no solution, no way of curing the state that the mind reader was in. The only thing he could think of was to find a way to slow down the process. But the inevitable was drawing near, slow or not, and Crawford knew it, even though he didn't want to admit it. Frowning to himself, he tugged the slumbering redhead closer and buried his nose in the soft hair, forcing himself to think. Schuldig's Japanese had been heavily accented, which meant that something was missing where the knowledge had formerly been. It didn't only bother the American; it also worried him. What if Schuldig lost all knowledge of Japanese? How would anyone be able to get any information through to him? Well, Crawford had to admit that from translating the diaries he had learned some German, but he was positive that he would mispronounce every single word if he tried to say something. Perhaps the redhead would still remember his English lessons…? Brad shook the thought away. From the diaries he had learned that Schuldig had never been very fond of school, nor his teachers. With that in mind, Brad prayed he would never have to think of a way to communicate with the redhead. If there was anything called luck, then perhaps everything would just go back to normal, the telepath's condition blamed on an infection or something else, something curable.     Stroking the telepath's back absentmindedly, he tried to ignore how both ribs and spine seemed to protrude as if trying to break free from the restraint of skin. It bothered him to know that even though he had forced the telepath to have three meals a day, although less food than the others, the redhead still hadn't gained much weight.     He began to work his fingers through the red mane, carefully undoing the tangled mess little by little. The movements became automatic, the entire thing meditative. He had to think of something, anything, that could help the redhead. Even Estet's documents had stated that even though they were familiar with the syndrome, they had yet to find a way to halt or reverse its course. The few attempts that had been made had failed miserably, ending with the sufferer either becoming a vegetable or killing themselves. And although Crawford had to admit that there had been times when he would have loved nothing more but for the telepath to be hit by something large and heavy, it seemed that nothing would be the way it should be should the telepath not be a part of Schwarz anymore. He didn't want to think too much about it.     Shifting a little, he continued to weave his way through the red mass. Feelings had often bothered him, which was why he had tried not to have any. But he had found that trying to ignore them only made things worse in the end; maybe not for others but for himself. So he decided he would never quell any feelings ever again if Schuldig would only make it through okay. He suddenly realized that he had begun to hum a random melody. Almost embarrassed, he cleared his throat slightly, much like a cat ignoring that it had missed its tail, and went back to working out the tangles.     Then there was the matter of how the other two coped. Farfarello didn't seem to mind very much, while the Japanese teen was getting visibly jumpy and clumsier for reasons Brad didn't really understand. He had never really understood the ways Nagi reacted to certain situations, and this was something new to add to the long list.     Despite himself he took up humming again, this time a melody that sounded strangely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Then he remembered. It was the same as the song that Schuldig had played for him all those months ago, when the headaches had just begun. But there was something else, too. He knew that he had heard it, or at least part of it, some time before that, he just wasn't sure when.     Then it hit him. He had had a vision some time ago, that he hadn't thought too much about. But it explained the sense of déjà vu that he had had during that night in the kitchen; he had had a vision of that night happening. But in his vision, he hadn't found the diary. Uneasy, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't flipped through the diary that night. Shaking his head, he continued to work his fingers through the thick hair, humming. It wasn't long before he was asleep.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
No, this is not the entire chapter... I'm trying to think of what will happen next. I know how I want the end to be, but I need something more before it comes... Help me, ppl! Sankyuu!!   
  



	6. Chapter V: I cannot walk alone; the wind...

**Won't you close our eyes?**   
  
  
_A/N:_ So, I'm finally here. At the end of the story, sort of. Maybe like in "carnival 2000"? "tabi no owari"? Perhaps. It feels as if I've put a lot more into this than my usual fics. This is my baby! ^_^; This part is a bit shorter than the others, but, but...     First let me point out that if you don't want me to **spoil** this for you, don't read anything after this note (meaning **don't read the warning**). You've been warned! ^_^     Other than that, I want to say thank you to everyone who's stayed with me this far! You can look forward to the Acknowledments a bit further down. ^_^     Then, of course, I want to point out that this story is dedicated to my wonderful sister, Lenn. How could I ever live without you? Don't answer that, I don't think I want to know. ^_^ I love you, honey.     I was thinking back and forth about which song to use for this part (I've been writing on this part since Christmas 2001, and that's a long time, or well not really. I mean, this is me ^_^ There are things where I've been writing on the next part for years), but I finally decided on X Japan's "Forever Love", which is the ending song to "X - the movie". I love that song, it gives me goose-bumps. I think it was the lines "Kono mama soba ni ite, yoru ke ni areru kokoro o dakishimete, oh stay with me" that did it. I mean, really. Other songs that you can listen to, if you like, (these are the ones I was considering) are:   
_"Toki ni Ai wa", from "Utena movie"   
"something i can never have", by nine inch nails   
"Spiritualized", Schu's song (come on, ppl!), you can listen to this, anyway, the lyrics fit -_-;   
"my will", by DREAM (ending theme to "Inuyasha", you know, "shinjite la la la la la la", too cute)   
"May it Be", from LotR OST   
"Fatal Sisters Opened Umbrella", (which is instrumental, but anyway) by Xinlisupreme, a superb band when it somes to Japanese underground-synth   
"For You", HIM (but don't worry, I'm thinking of writing a son-fic to this one ^_^;;)   
"Nobody has a thing to say", which is the duel-song from ep. 13 of Utena (I mean, come on, "watashi hoshi" in the end, who don't love that?)   
"True Romance", with Maki Ichihara (for Earthian)   
The story theme from Vandal Hearts for Playstation   
The CD "Chang You" by Faye Wong, and especially the first track, "Emotional Life", or "Love Life" as the Japanese release says.   
"Peeping Tom", by Placebo_     and about a hundred others. :) The lyrics in the actual fic (and in the title of this chapter) are from "Forever Love". They are my own translations (I'd like to think that they are somewhat more poetical than the ones I found on the 'Net...) The translation at the end is the one I found at www.animelyrics.com which means I don't own it. I don't think I want to, either, because I don't really agree with some lines, but anyway.     I hope you'll enjoy this! I worked so hard!   
  
  
_Warnings:_ You know the drill about now, don't you? OOC, angst and stuff... I just want to add (AND THIS IS THE SPOILER, SO DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW! JUST HOP DOWN A BIT AND DON'T READ THIS!) that yes, there is character-death in this part, so there. You're spoiled. ^_-   
  
_italics_ means thoughts   
'...' means diary-entry, or part from a diary-entry   
/ "..." \ means something remembered   
  
  
  
_Disclaimer:_ I've never owned these people! I never will! Not any of the songs mentioned, either! So there. Here, all I have is a used straw. And are you sure you want it? I've got a cold.   
  
  
  
_Acknowledgements:_ Of course, my wonderful **Lenn-neechan**, for being who she is.   
**Omi-kun** for finally gaining some weight. Or something like that. :) I love you, man. And **Nagi-kun** for taking such good care of him! You're a sweetheart. And I don't believe people have to grow up on the street to be this nice, I just think that most people are bastards to persons who are weak. So keep going!   
Of course, the people who reviewed! I can't say thank you enough. But mostly to those of you who stuck this out with me on the ML. I've been ages. I know I have been. And also to **Bright Shadow** who sent me the mail that got me going. Hugs and smoochies to you if you want them!   
I'd also like to add that during the writing of this story (almost one year) the following happened in my life:     Two friends tried to kill themselves, but luckily both failed     Of those two, one tried three times     Li'l bro' went through surgery and made it out in one piece, literally     One friend was raped four times     One "Cambridge Proficiency in English" test wasn't correctly studied to (since I was writing on this instead... But don't worry, I managed to get B, anyway! The only one in my class, too!)     Innumerable liters of coffee, packs of cigarettes and cookies were sacrificed to my lost inspiration   
  
So with that, I'll let you get on with reading the fic, and I hope that I haven't disappointed you!   
  
  
  
**Chapter V: I cannot walk alone; the winds of time are all too powerful**   
  
  
Schuldig slept long after that. Nineteen hours, and he was still asleep. Crawford had carefully crawled into the bed to join the redhead beneath the navy covers, hoping to bring some comfort by just being there. After having exhausted all his sources, both those available and those not, he still hadn't found anything that could help him in any way. It bothered the clairvoyant. Bradley Crawford always found what he was looking for. But as it seemed, there was no solution, no way of curing the state that the mind reader was in. The only thing he could think of was to find a way to slow down the process. But the inevitable was drawing near, slow or not, and Crawford knew it, even though he didn't want to admit it. Frowning to himself, he tugged the slumbering redhead closer and buried his nose in the soft hair, forcing himself to think. Schuldig's Japanese had been heavily accented, which meant that something was missing where the knowledge had formerly been. It didn't only bother the American; it also worried him. What if Schuldig lost all knowledge of Japanese? How would anyone be able to get any information through to him? Well, Crawford had to admit that from translating the diaries he had learned some German, but he was positive that he would mispronounce every single word if he tried to say something. Perhaps the redhead would still remember his English lessons…? Brad shook the thought away. From the diaries he had learned that Schuldig had never been very fond of school, nor his teachers. With that in mind, Brad prayed he would never have to think of a way to communicate with the redhead. If there was anything called luck, then perhaps everything would just go back to normal, the telepath's condition blamed on an infection or something else, something curable.     Stroking the telepath's back absentmindedly, he tried to ignore how both ribs and spine seemed to protrude as if trying to break free from the restraint of skin. It bothered him to know that even though he had forced the telepath to have three meals a day, although less food than the others, the redhead still hadn't gained much weight.     He began to work his fingers through the red mane, carefully undoing the tangled mess little by little. The movements became automatic, the entire thing meditative. He had to think of something, anything, that could help the redhead. Even Estet's documents had stated that even though they were familiar with the syndrome, they had yet to find a way to halt or reverse its course. The few attempts that had been made had failed miserably, ending with the sufferer either becoming a vegetable or killing themselves. And although Crawford had to admit that there had been times when he would have loved nothing more but for the telepath to be hit by something large and heavy, it seemed that nothing would be the way it should be should the telepath not be a part of Schwarz anymore. He didn't want to think too much about it.     Shifting a little, he continued to weave his way through the red mass. Feelings had often bothered him, which was why he had tried not to have any. But he had found that trying to ignore them only made things worse in the end; maybe not for others but for himself. So he decided he would never quell any feelings ever again if Schuldig would only make it through okay. He suddenly realized that he had begun to hum a random melody. Almost embarrassed, he cleared his throat slightly, much like a cat ignoring that it had missed its tail, and went back to working out the tangles.     Then there was the matter of how the other two coped. Farfarello didn't seem to mind very much, while the Japanese teen was getting visibly jumpy and clumsier for reasons Brad didn't really understand. He had never really understood the ways Nagi reacted to certain situations, and this was something new to add to the long list.     Despite himself he took up humming again, this time a melody that sounded strangely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Then he remembered. It was the same as the song that Schuldig had played for him all those months ago, when the headaches had just begun. But there was something else, too. He knew that he had heard it, or at least part of it, some time before that, he just wasn't sure when.     Then it hit him. He had had a vision some time ago, that he hadn't thought too much about. But it explained the sense of déjà vu that he had had during that night in the kitchen; he had had a vision of that night happening. But in his vision, he hadn't found the diary. Uneasy, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't flipped through the diary that night. Shaking his head, he continued to work his fingers through the thick hair, humming. It wasn't long before he was asleep. 

Schuldig moved just a fraction closer, loving the warmth of the other man. He wasn't sure if Crawford noticed it or not, but it didn't matter. At least the American was humming softly now, still weaving his fingers through the redhead's hair. Schuldig loved the touch and savored it much like a cat would.     When he let his mind wander, his thoughts ended up on the Japanese teen, without his knowing why. The teen's thoughts had, however, bled into his a lot lately, especially when Nagi was tired and stressed. Mostly the thoughts were ones of concern for the rest of the team's welfare, sometimes of a to Schuldig nameless and faceless person. Whoever that person was, he or she had quite a large and safe spot in the boy's tiny but loving heart. Even though Nagi would never readily admit to such a thing, his heart was much larger than it seemed. There was room enough for his teammates, no matter how strange they were, as well as a few friends, and yet there was lots of space left for anyone who deserved it. At least that was how Schuldig liked to think of it.     Schuldig also liked to think that he was something of an older brother to the teen. At least that way he could pretend that he was important to someone. He had never considered himself to be important, just necessary. Perhaps he was wrong and needed to improve his self-image, or perhaps he was right and needed to shoot himself. The thought was appealing; he had to admit that at least. He had considered shooting himself, those times when it just became too much for him to handle on his own. But every one of those times, Brad had always come to see how he was doing, and it made his conscience heavy. He felt as if he was betraying the person who cared for him and perhaps the only one at that, which was something he absolutely didn't want. Sure, he could remember people calling him heartless, but something like this was something not even he could do. No matter how heartless people called him.     Sighing softly, he rested his forehead in the crook of the American's neck, breathing in the soft cinnamon scent that was entirely Crawford's. He liked it this way, just being close to somebody, sharing heat for a little while. And it was even nicer now, since most of the sounds had drowned out, leaving him with a quiet buzz in the back of his head. He wasn't sure of how long this new silence would last, but he decided to make the most of it. Perhaps, if he was careful, the noise wouldn't come back. Perhaps he wouldn't have to betray that one person. He would like to think that Crawford would understand. At least the American had been forgiving and supportive thus far, but one never knew how far his patience would stretch, and Schuldig knew that he had been stretching it for months now.     He felt as if he would start crying, thinking of how annoyed the other must be with him. Sitting up carefully, he wiped at his dry eyes and looked down at Crawford where he slept. He looked pretty like this, Schuldig thought. He wanted to say so, but whenever he tried to find the words they escaped him.     As if sensing the redhead's thoughts, Crawford blinked his eyes open, looking up to find the other looking down at him. "Well, hello," he said, smiling gently at the telepath. Schuldig gave a tentative smile in return, opening his mouth to say something, but found that he couldn't find any words.     "What?" Crawford asked, his forehead creasing just so.     Schuldig shook his head and lay back down, snuggling close and was fast asleep. 

For days afterwards he didn't say a thing. It worried Brad beyond words that the redhead had stopped talking. When he finally did say something, it was a broken whisper. In German. Brad had been confused at first, then angry, and finally scared. What he had feared had come true; the redhead had forgotten how to speak in any other language than his native, and it seemed that as the days passed, his knowledge of that decreased as well.     At times, Brad felt like crying, but never allowed himself to. He decided that he would cry when everything was over and Schuldig was okay again. He had turned it into a pact with himself, that he wouldn't share a single tear until the ordeal was over.     Right then, he felt as if he would break the pact. Damn the teen, playing X Japan at that volume! It wasn't so much that he didn't like the band; it was more that the lyrics to every song had a way of speaking straight to his heart. The words tugged at him when he heard them through the wall; Nagi's room was the one closest to the living room, where the American was currently sitting. He had the television on in the background while he sat with his laptop on his lap; the redheaded German curled up beside him, watching the TV with child-like fascination. Crawford tried not to be disturbed by the fact that simple, ordinary things fascinated the redhead beyond belief, but he couldn't deny that it would get to him, in time. Everything in time. He suppressed a sigh and continued to go through the same files over and over, looking to see if maybe he had missed something, anything, that could help. The diaries didn't help anything at this point, and he had forced himself to put them away. Intriguing as they were, they reminded him too much of what Estet had done to their lives, and that was something he preferred not to think about. At least not if he could help it.     He stopped in his typing when familiar lyrics drifted into the room. He didn't catch more than a few words, which he translated easily in his own head: "_If there is such a thing as unchanging love, will you hold my heart, catch my tears?_"     Without realizing it, Brad was blinking several times over and over to stop the sudden burning behind his eyelids. Chiding himself mentally for being so weak that a song moved him to tears, he shot a glance at Schuldig to find that he had fallen asleep again. With a slight nod, he went back to sorting through the files, tired eyes watching the screen. _This won't work_, he thought to himself, his mental voice having a desperate ring to it. _. Whenever I actually put some personal effort into things, they never work out._ He closed the laptop and sighed to himself, suddenly feeling very tired and very weary. He wondered in his thoughts how long it had been since he had had a good night's rest, not worrying about the redhead. Ever since Schuldig had mentioned Russian roulette, he had constantly been on edge, always checking to make sure that the redhead didn't have access to a gun or anything else to hurt himself with. Brad knew that banging limbs against a wall was always an easy option for people who were out to hurt themselves, so he always kept quiet around him so that he would be able to detect any such sounds as well. He didn't want to admit it, but he had become a true mother hen.     Beside him, Schuldig mumbled something in his sleep, nuzzling Crawford's upper arm as he did so. With a fond smile, Brad reached to push hair out of the German's pale face, not frowning any more at the sight of the almost color-less lips and slightly bluish eyelids. He was already used to how Schuldig looked more and more like a dead body than a living one.     He put the laptop away and extended an arm to fold it securely around the sleeping form, rubbing Schuldig's upper arm to offer some comfort. When the sleeve of the redhead's shirt was pulled up slightly, Brad stopped, staring at the thin wrist. He had been scratching himself again. It looked as if the damage had been done only hours earlier, which angered the pre-cog. Why hadn't he noticed? Schuldig always looked more relieved after he had scratched himself to bleeding. _I should have noticed. Why didn't I? I should have!_     Now angry with himself, Brad carefully shook the thin German awake.     "Was?" Schuldig mumbled, still halfway asleep. Brad harshly held up the redhead's wrist.     "This!" he said, angry enough to not realize that he was speaking Japanese. "What the hell is this supposed to mean?" When all he got was a confused look from the other, he gave up, releasing the painfully thin wrist. Instead, he took the German's head in both of his hand and looked at him for several long minutes before shaking his head and placing a careful kiss on the redhead's forehead. Letting him go, he stood up and stretched. "Food?" he asked, doing a gesture to illustrate what he meant. Schuldig tilted his head slightly, almost like a confused puppy regarding him with dull emerald eyes, but then nodded and stood, to more or less attach himself to the tall American. Together, the two of them walked to the kitchen, Schuldig holding on to Crawford's sleeve like a child afraid to be left behind. Crawford refrained from sighing once more. Life was an emotional hell. 

After yet another week of fruitless attempts to find a cure, Brad found himself sitting by his desk, staring into nothingness. He, Bradley "Oracle" Crawford, had run out of ideas. All the stress caused his precognitive abilities to go on a fritz, which in short meant he was nothing more than a stressed and miserable man. Stressed, because whatever this disease was, it was disabling the redhead more and more, which was painfully obvious by just watching the German. Miserable, because he didn't know what to do about it, no matter how much he tried to think of something he always came up blank. He hated to admit it, but it hurt and kept him up at night, knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do about anything considering the redhead, more than to just try and make the best of Schuldig's life as it was. There were times when he wondered if perhaps the redhead was doing something intelligent when he was scratching at his arms until they bled. Maybe that was the one smart thing left to do; to find closure.     The promise he had made for what seemed like so long ago came back to him.     / " Spare me the pain. If there's nothing to be done, at least do that." \     And he had promised to do that, if it ever came to that.     "Well," he said to himself where he sat, "it seems you have run out of ideas and that it is time for you to keep that promise." Another part of himself said that if he just looked a bit more, he might just find it, and if he did, he would be angry with himself for ever thinking the things he thought right then. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Brad rose and went to make himself some coffee.     Standing by the brewer in the kitchen, he tried to hear any unusual sounds over the brewer, still worried that the redhead might be up to something. There were hundreds of ways to kill oneself, and Brad didn't doubt that if one really wanted to, one would find a way and succeed. Shaking his head to himself, Crawford poured himself a cup of the fresh coffee and headed upstairs to check on the redhead and see if he needed anything. Walking up the stairs he realized how very quiet everything was. He knew that Nagi was doing his homework; to make sure, he popped his head in the teen's room and saw him sitting by his desk with his headphones on, music leaking out of them.     Closing the door carefully behind him, he continued treading the floor of the hallway. Then, something caught his attention.     Whirr whirr.     Silence.     Click.     Silence.     Sigh.     Whirr whirr.     Silence.     Click.     Silence.     Sigh.     The sound-sequence repeated itself over and over. Listening carefully, he strained to hear where it was coming from. The bathroom. A cold hand clutched his gut as he neared the door slowly, doing his best to go unnoticed. The closer he came, the better he could hear the empty clicks coming from inside the room at the end of the corridor. Once he was by the door, he paused. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go in. He wasn't sure if he dared.     He heard yet another sigh from the bathroom and now there was no denying it. It was definitely Schuldig in there, and the clicks betrayed some sort of revolver. He wasn't sure how or where the redhead had found it, but as Schuldig had told him so long ago, if one wants to hurt oneself badly enough, one will always find a way. Brad sighed, fighting with himself whether or not he should go in and interrupt the redhead. He wasn't even sure if the gun was loaded or not.     After yet another repeat of the sound-sequence, the American pushed the wooden door open. There was Schuldig, sitting on the cold tiles, wearing one of Brad's white dress-shirts. Crawford vaguely remembered that from somewhere, but he couldn't remember where. In the redhead's hands was a revolver with his fingerprints visible on the metallic surface. Brad swallowed uncomfortably when he realized what the redhead was doing.     Russian roulette.     "Nein," Brad said softly, taking a seat beside the former telepath. Schuldig held up his left index finger, as if saying 'just one more time', then the whirr filled the room again, bouncing off the walls. When he put the gun to his temple, Brad caught it and put it out of the German's reach.     "Nein," he repeated, a bit more forcefully this time. Schuldig turned his dull aqua-green eyes on the American and Brad began to talk in his native English, not caring if the other man understood what he was saying or not. "I remember that I promised that I'd spare you the pain," he began slowly. "But I guess I'm too selfish for that. I mean, nothing would be the same without you around. I guess… I guess you've just grown on me." He sighed softly and smiled down on his hands where they rested in his lap. "Ironic, isn't it? All this time I've never wanted a commitment or a relationship, but now that I do… Now that I want to tell you that I want to try it at least, you can't understand a word I'm saying. I guess all you can do is laugh, don't you?"     A thin hand found its way into one of his and he looked up, meeting tired emerald.     "Liebe," Schuldig said in a faint whisper, too tired to smile.     Brad nodded in reply. "I know." He smiled softly at the other, brushing red strands of hair out of the other's eyes. "I know. Which is why I'll keep that promise, even though I'd rather not."     Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached for his trusty semi-automatic where it was in his shoulder holster. Withdrawing it, he clicked off the safety and looked up at the redhead. Schuldig had his gaze turned towards the pre-cog, but his eyes were out of focus.     Entwining his fingers with the German's, Crawford put the gun to Schuldig's temple.     "Bitte," he whispered, and Schuldig's gaze focused on his face for a moment, "vergib mir."     During the split second that passed before he pulled the trigger, he thought he could see a flash of recognition shoot through those empty emerald orbs. Memories, perhaps, of stumbling into the house early in the morning to receive a speech from his teammate; of giving snide remarks to people whose thoughts had amused him; of sitting alone, scared in a tiny room at a large impersonal facility; of never being able to trust anyone; of the girl he had shot when he was fourteen; of running around the house, chasing a little blonde girl, both of them giggling; of sneaking in through his window late at night; of hearing his parents fight; of teasing his teammates; of being afraid; of not being alone; and a hundred other fragments that were all insignificant on their own, but important as a whole.     Then it was gone as the red head was knocked back by the force of impact.     Long minutes passed before Brad dared to move again, his face warmed by the blood that would never wash away. His eyes burned, as did his cheeks, although he didn't know why. Collecting the thin body into his arms, cradling it against his chest, he allowed himself those tears that had been lying just beneath the surface for months. He had lost, and he knew it. Sitting there, he thought back on the last few months, his breath hitched into uncomfortable gasps, and for the umpteenth time he recounted in his head all the signs he had missed, but that was clear as day now that he thought back.     Bradley Crawford had failed. It was official. He had failed to help someone he cared about, just as he had failed to save his mother, and his brothers, and his friends, and now his teammate. He had failed. And it hurt.     Glancing over at the revolver, he could hear the redhead's question.     / "Do you think Russian Roulette has something to do with fate?" \     He picked it up carefully, and made another pact with himself. "If I pull the trigger and nothing happens, then I'll go on with my life," he promised himself out loud. If it did have anything to do with fate, and the gun didn't go off, then perhaps he and Schuldig was never meant for each other anyway.     Pressing a kiss to cold, bluish lips, he felt the cold of the revolver against his own forehead as he pointed it to himself.     Not seconds later, the report of a gunshot echoed throughout the house, closely followed by a hollow thump.     Nagi looked up, removing his headphones for a moment before shrugging and returning to his homework. Math sucked. 

'Tuesday, 24th of September, 19XX     There were people here today. Old men that said they were just checking to see what "was available". I'm not sure I know what they meant, because I couldn't read any of them. All of them were ugly old men, anyway, so I didn't really care. Then someone came pushing this black-haired guy towards one of the men, and the poor guy looked as if he would faint right then and there. I could tell he was running a high fever and his legs were shaking so bad that he could hardly stand up. And he still just squared his jaw and glared at the man as if he owned the world.     I want to be like him. I wish I was. I wish I could be. But maybe, I can just be the one behind him? There's something about him that is different from the rest of us here at Rosenkreuz. I haven't seen him before, but I guess it's because he's ill. He doesn't look as if he'll make it through all right. I hope he does. No, maybe I'm wrong. That look he had, that absolute look of confidence he wore, he will be all right. I know he will. He has to be. Because I have to see him again. When he walked out of the room he looked back over his shoulder to glare at the man again, and our gazes locked for just a moment. I swear he smiled at me.     I have to see him again.   
  
Your Schuldig, still trying to get out of this nuthouse   
  
…but maybe it's worth staying now'   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Forever Love   
"   
_Mou hitori de arukenai   
toki no kaze ga tsuyo sugite   
Ah kizutsuku koto nante   
nareta hazu dakedo ima wa... _

Ah kono mama dakishimete   
nureta mama no kokoro o   
kawari tsuzukeru kono toki ni   
kawaranai ai ga arunara   
Will you hold my heart   
namida uketomete   
mou koware souna All my heart 

Forever Love Forever Dream   
areru omoi dake ga   
tanishiku setsunaku jikan o umezukusu   
Oh Tell me why   
All I see is blue in my heart   
Will you stay with me   
kaze ga sugi suru made   
mata raretsu All my tears   
Forever Love Forever Dream   
Kono mama soba ni ite   
yoru ke ni areru kokoro o dakishimete   
Oh Stay with me 

Ah subete ga owareba ii   
owari no nai kono yori ni   
Ah o umo no nante   
nani mo nai anata dake   
Forever Love Forever Dream   
kono mama soba ni ite   
yori ke ni onurieru kokoro o dakishimete   
Ah Will you stay with me   
kaze ga sugi saru made   
mou dare yori mo soba ni 

Forever Love Forever Dream   
kore ijo arukenai   
Oh Tell my why Oh Tell me true   
oshiete ikeru imi o   
Forever Love Forever Dream   
areru namida no naka   
kagayaku kizetsu ga eien ni kawaru made   
Forever Love" 

[Alone I cannot walk   
Time's winds are too strong   
Ah, it's wounded   
I should have gotten used to it, but right now 

Ah, leave me the way I am   
My heart, even though damp   
At this moment is being changed   
If unchanging love exists   
Will you hold my heart   
Catch my tears   
All of my heart is ready to shatter 

Forever Love Forever Dream   
Only overflowing thoughts of love   
Please bury all of the terrible, sorrowful time   
Oh tell me why   
All I see is blue in my heart   
Will you stay with me   
Until the winds pass   
All my tears overflow again   
Forever Love Forever Dream   
Be with me this way   
Please hold my trembling heart until dawn   
Oh stay with me 

Ah, I want this to end   
Nothing is ended though in this night   
Ah, I am lost   
There is nothing...only you exist   
Forever Love Forever Dream   
Be with me this way   
Hold my trembling heart until dawn   
Oh will you stay with me   
Until the wind passes   
At this moment, more than anyone I want you with me 

Forever Love Forever Dream   
I can't go on   
Oh tell me why, Oh tell me true   
Tell me the meaning of life   
These tears overflowing from our relation   
Until the seasons change into forever   
Forever Love…]   
  
  
  


**~finis~   
Aug-01 to Apr-02**

* * *

  
  
And there it is. *sniff* I always cry when I see this movie (-- referring to song). I'm thinking of writing an epilog, from Nagi's POV. How many says OK? And I love shinjuu [lovers' suicides] (I know, I'm sick), so that's what I turned this into. And I didn't plan on ending it with a diary-entry, but I think it fit well. Also, for those of you who have seen the X movie, when Brad sits cradling Schu, think how Kamui held Fuuma's head, minus the screams, and that's about how it looks in my head. I know, I'm mentally challanged.   
Why I stopped writing from Schu's POV is because I felt that that's where he kind of slipped away. Remember the first part? Right. I didn't think that there was any point in trying to write his POV any more, since he's not really there any more.   
And let's face it, I had to kill them. After much thinking, I decided that it would be best that way. Besides, like this it's kind of a happy ending, don't you think? Um, I've seen too many Japanese movies. I need to re-learn what a Western happy ending is, I think. *eheh* I hope I didn't disappoint anyone, and I hope you don't regret staying with me this long. Once again, thank you for all the reviews, they are what keep me going! Now, what should my next project be...? Anyone got any requests? Maybe, if you ask nicely enough, I'll try it out! Yes, Lenn, I know I've got a pile of my ai shounen original fics lying around. Don't worry. I'm saving them for our hp.   
  
  


_Runs away into the sunset   
Baibai minna-sama! Ja mata ne!_

  
  
  



End file.
